Welcome to Hogwarts
by InMyJazzShoes
Summary: Harry Potter, tragic hero, and Hermione Granger, unpopular bookworm, may not know each other at first, but they have one big thing in common: they don't sleep out of fear. Will they learn to overcome their fears or stay awake?
1. Your Parents Didn't Die in a Car Crash

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! :) Here's the new story that I had told you all about after completing "How to Love" about two and half months ago. So it's about time I post this, haha. Right below this Author's Note is a paragraph titled "Info". Surprisingly enough, it gives you info about the story that you might want to know so you're not hella confused, but there will certainly be some confusion anyways (Harry's POV at first may throw some of you off, put please bear with me) and I apologize for that in advance. Please enjoy :)

**Info:** AU, timeline is pre-OotP. Harry didn't know about magic until the beginning of this story. Hermione and Ron are not friends. Only Dumbledore believed that Voldemort was slowly returning, so the Order has not formed until just now. Moody was really Moody in GoF, so none of that Barty Crouch Junior subplot crap. Wormtail was never Ron's pet, Scabbers (he was just in hiding, until now). Harry doesn't know about magic, wizards, etc. because according to wizarding law, all witches and wizards needed permission from their parents/guardians _in their household_ (so Sirius's permission would not be legitimate) to go to a wizarding school. Obviously the Dursleys did not ever give their permission when his first Hogwarts letter came, and they've hidden everything from him.

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter One: Your Parents Didn't Die in a Car Crash_

Privet Drive was darkened by an average night that had followed an average day. The close-knit houses only had a few lights on as their occupants prepared to go to bed, only to wake up to an identical, average morning many hours later as the sun rose and overcame the moon, which was then to be a part of a different night for twelve hours.

Only pavement and empty streets were lit up by street lights, their lack of the usual bustle of competitive, well-dressed people cast an eerie sight, and so nobody in their homes looked outside; and besides, there were no other neighbors to spy on out there.

Yet Dudley Dursley found himself looking out the window, feeling very distant from his parents, who paid no attention to the outside of their home.

He could have _sworn_ that he saw Harry disappear from directly across the house just a couple of hours ago. It had been a very odd sight…

Dudley was just returning from a friend's house and looked outside the window, happy that he had beat Harry home. This meant, of course, that his cousin was to be punished for returning home later than him. It wasn't like they were doing anything different…Harry had his own gang tailing him.

But then something had caught his eye. There was a man walking down the street, if he could even be called a man…it looked more like a rat than anything else. He had dropped his old, battered hat the moment Harry turned around the corner, looking anxious to get home as quickly as possible, his friends out of eyesight but surely not too far behind. The man said a few words to Harry, pointing to his hat, probably asking him to pick it up for him. Harry bent down towards the hat, but what was odd was that at the last minute the old man bent down towards it, too.

And then they were gone. It was like the hat had somehow moved them elsewhere....

To Privet Drive, it was as though the encounter had never happened. Nobody else seemed to notice…or if they had, they'd consider it a hallucination and take some aspirin, making it all a joke to tell their family over the dinner table.

It wasn't that Dudley actually _cared_ about what happened to Harry…in fact, the household was better off without him, even if he wasn't home half the time because of constant detentions. Dudley just couldn't explain something like a disappearance into thin air, and it bothered him. He was unable to peel his gaze away from the window.

And then, just as he was about to call it a day and relish the fact that his cousin might be gone for good, Harry reappeared.

At first, all Harry could see were green jets of light shooting at him, just barely missing him and sparing him his life, and then it was all gone the moment he grabbed that old battered hat that had brought him there in the first place.

There was a sharp tug around his navel, as though force greater than him or even Voldemort was pulling him through the air. He didn't dare to let go of that hat, no matter how nauseous and exhausted he felt…and just as quickly as it had happened, Harry had returned back to earth, falling to the ground and slowly recovering, not even feeling the pain because what he had endured from where he'd just escaped was far worse.

The sight before him was too good to be true, and he carefully scanned his surroundings to make sure that this wasn't a trick. There were streetlamps and houses, and no signs of a graveyard. It was a twin of Privet Drive. _Was _it Privet Drive? Was he really here? If he was, he'd never been so happy to be here in his life.

He'd never known about magic hours before, but there he was, a fugitive from a godawful graveyard where the most evil creature he'd ever encountered -- he'd called himself Lord Voldemort -- had displayed all sorts of Dark magic on Harry. He hadn't known that wands existed, or that they could conjure such horrible magic, or that they could lift things, tie things up, inflict pain... He hadn't known about Lord Voldemort, or Death Eaters, or anything beyond his own little world living amongst what they called "Muggles". He hadn't known that a completely different world lingered behind him, that they knew his name, that people like Voldemort wanted him dead...

But it all existed. It had been around the entire time. While he was stuck at Privet Drive, all of this magic existed. After seeing so much magic happen before his eyes and being forced to endure pain whenb Voldemort said "Crucio!" multiple times, Harry did not doubt its existence. He wished it didn't exist, but it _did_. It was all there.

It was real.

He dropped the old battered hat, afraid that it would make him return to the place he now feared the most. How that bloody thing had transported him to that bloody graveyard was completely beyond him...it was _magic_, something that Voldemort was very keen on displaying to Harry. Dark, dark magic.

The hat fell to the ground slowly when he let go of it, as though it was regretting being further and further away from him, eager to transport him back to hell.

He closed his eyes and put his hands to his forehead, which felt as though it were on fire. Did it split open yet from the pain? Harry had encountered his scar hurting in the past without any sort of explanation. Until now.

"Harry?"

Who was that? There was another voice speaking to him. It sounded familiar. Somehow. There was a form walking towards him angrily: the gait of Uncle Vernon.

"Harry?"

There it went again. His uncle was repeating himself. Or maybe he was imagining it. He kind of wished he _was _imagining it. He wished he imagined everything, that it had never happened in the first place. He wished he imagined _magic_.

Harry stood there stupidly, not sure of what to do or say anymore, as the form was prowling towards him. He didn't feel threatened, for once. Nothing Uncle Vernon could do would affect him after Harry had been trapped in a graveyard with Voldemort.

Then, with incredible speed, his Uncle picked up his pace and grabbed Harry's arm.

He didn't like being touched.

He kicked. He screamed. He resisted as much as he could. To get his uncle _away from him_. Didn't he understand?

Then again, he didn't know what happened in the graveyard. He couldn't possibly know what he had just survived….

No matter how much he was resisting, he was still being pulled somewhere. There were other voices now, too. Aunt Petunia and Dudley, to complete the trio of the people he hated the most, next to Voldemort.

Uncle Vernon kept pulling him across the street, muttering curse words paired with things like, "Shut up!", and "Stop it!", the very favorite parts of his vocabulary aimed at Harry.

He whipped the door opened and there was suddenly light everywhere. Harry's eyes slowly adjusted gratefully to the light.

No more darkness. No more graveyard.

Yes, this was home. He was back. He was a survivor from Voldemort's wrath. Flashes of memories whirled inside his mind but he remained standing (although just barely). Moments ago, facing the most evil wizard -- there were wizards, magic was _real_! -- he thought that he would never live to see Number Four, Privet Drive again. He thought he wouldn't take in another breath, but he escaped. He made it. Harry survived the unspeakable scene at the graveyard and lived to tell the tale... although he wasn't sure he wanted to tell it to anyone any time soon... any spectator of what had happened would probably faint, or puke, or die of shock.

They were all the foyer, incredibly clean and neat as he had left it, as though nothing had ever happened. Harry wished he could imitate that attitude.

But there was a stranger standing there, whom the Dursleys were keeping a distance from. He was the strangest-looking person Harry had seen, wearing odd robes and an outlandish hat, but nothing could genuinely surprise him now after the graveyard. He could take anything after that hell.

"Hello, Harry," he said, in a deep, calm voice. "I'm Albus Dumbledore, and I'm here to help you."

. . . . .

Here she was again.

Maybe it was because in her first year, Draco Malfoy found out she was Muggle-born, so she hid in the girl's bathroom: the one place he couldn't get to her.

Maybe it was because so many people pointed out her buck teeth, so she ran into the nearest classroom so they wouldn't see the tears their shouts had conjured.

Maybe it was because last year, Cho Chang chased her – with her giggling group of friends, of course – out of the Great Hall with insults, so she found the nearest broom closet and stayed there for three hours.

Maybe it was because she waited until past midnight to go to sleep, so she wouldn't have to face the other girls in the dormitories.

But no matter what it was, Hermione found herself here…

…Hiding.

Academics aside, hiding was the one thing Hermione was very good at. Unfortunately, there were no empty classrooms or broom closets to hide in at her house…so she had to settle with remaining as silent as possible in her room, hoping that her parents wouldn't come upstairs to remind her what day it was. Then again, the calendar on her wall seemed to be doing that job all on its own: every time she glared at it, it glared back, saying, _Hogwarts in just three days! Welcome to hell!_

Hermione had hoped she'd never hide from her parents, who were the two of the three people whom she actually felt comfortable with. They were respectable, wealthy, and overall great people, but when the last week of August rolled around, their spur-of-the-moment pep talks mutated into long speeches of building self confidence. Their concern for her social situation at school went overboard, and while a part of her appreciated it, she did not want to remind them of her presence in their house as they returned from a long day at the dentist's office.

She looked at her analog clock, perfect and pristine, like the rest of her house, and saw – with a mini heart attack – that it was a quarter past six: right when her parents usually got home. And as if on cue, she heard the door open and the familiar voices of her parents destroying the one thing she appreciated now more than ever: a silent house.

Hermione was finally able to breathe again when there was a lack of, "Hermione! Come downstairs!". She laid down and buried her face in her pillow, wishing she could use a Time Turner to return to the beginning of the summer, or even skip the school year and go straight to the following the summer.

She stared aimlessly at the calendar that was beckoning her to cry at how close the first day of school was, until her parents unfortunately recognized her absence.

"Hermione, you're missing dinner!" Jane Granger shouted from the story below. "We've got pasta…your favorite!"

Hermione slowly got up, hoping the slower she moved, the slower time would pass.

"Okay, I'm on my way," she shouted back to her waiting parents.

She washed her face to hide the tear marks streaking her cheeks before joining her parents and escaping from hiding.

Albus Dumbledore had seen many faces, but perhaps this was the most tragic he'd ever seen.

Harry's eyes didn't look even close to Lily Potter's…sure, they were green, but they didn't possess the bright green sparkle that Albus had remembered from many, many years ago. They were stretched to huge circles and had just seen things that nobody should ever see.

He was muttering things about Voldemort, and Albus's worst fears were confirmed: Voldemort had made a second attempt to kill Harry, but had miraculously failed. He wanted to know exactly what happened, but he knew even better that it was not the time or place to question Harry, who was continuing to mutter things, perhaps to himself or to Albus. Nobody was really sure.

He thought he would meet Harry perhaps, at the earliest, on his eighteenth birthday: that was when he was to be a legal adult in the Muggle world, and when Albus had all of the rights to knock on the door of Number Four, Privet Drive and introduce Harry to the wizarding world. It would be easy to convince him to go anywhere away from the place he'd been trapped during all of his rememberable life. He had never imagined that this would be the way he'd meet the Boy Who Lived…and how that nickname suited him so well now, after he'd escaped Voldemort's clutches for the second time in his life.

Albus had had surveillance on Number Four, Privet Drive. He had his own sources that were best not to be revealed to the Ministry of Magic. When it was reported that Harry was not in the house or anywhere even near it, Albus notified Minerva, and both of them led a search. He was nowhere to be found…until now, of course.

His sources around the house – namely Arabella Figg – reported the very moment Harry returned. He'd apparently appeared from thin air, holding a battered hat that must have been a portkey…this had struck the sources as very odd, since the boy knew nothing about magic, and nobody was allowed to inform him of magic: it was against the wizarding law and severe consequences were served to whomever rebelled, especially in the infamous case of Harry Potter.

Albus Apparated immediately to Number Four, not caring just how illegal it was: it was critical that he got to Harry before the Ministry. And there Harry was, being led into the house by the Dursleys, who had been desperately trying to usher him inside soundlessly, which did not succeed. Petunia shrieked when she'd spotted Albus, and Vernon made odd, incoherent noises of frustration and bewilderment at his appearance. At first, of course, the Dursleys wanted him away, but Albus raised his wand to them, which quieted the family immediately. Until now.

"The neighbors will overhear him!" Petunia Dursley said worriedly, looking across the foyer as though she could see through the walls to witness nosy neighbors.

"That should be the least of our problems," Albus said.

Meanwhile, Dudley Dursley was sitting in the middle of the hallway past the foyer, staring at the floor as though wishing it would suck him in. Albus found himself about to ask him what _he_ had seen, but then Harry began shouting and his attention was repossessed.

"You! What are you – what are you doing here?" Harry screamed, pointing at Albus.

His round, bloodshot eyes were boring into Albus's calm, light blue ones. There was a ring of sweat around the collar of Harry's oversized t-shirt and he was breathing heavy, as though he had just ran five miles. There were all sorts of cuts and bruises that could have quickly been healed by magic, although Albus did not want to see Harry's reaction to magic just yet. There was a possibility that after seeing magic performed for the first time by Lord Voldemort, that he would be very sensitive around magic, even the harmless kind.

Harry seemed to not be aware of much around him. It was as though this was the first time he'd ever seen this house. Albus could only imagine what the boy – or, young man, rather – was remembering as his eyes scanned the room…maybe Harry was seeing a long, black cloak instead of the thin coats on the coat hanger…maybe he was seeing a mysterious dark figure rather than the front door…maybe he was mistaking a letter in the letterbox for a wand….

"I'm here to help you, Harry," he said with a smile – which was difficult, because just looking at Harry's expression would make _anyone_ not want to smile again.

Petunia looked around the foyer again nervously, and said, "The _neighbors_!"

"Petunia, please," Albus insisted.

Harry was standing against the wall of the foyer and was looking around just as nervously as Petunia, although for completely different reasons: he wasn't worried about being noticed by nosy neighbors…he was worried about someone far, far worse.

"I can take you some place safe, Harry. Away from Voldemort. How does that sound?" he asked.

Harry now stared at Albus, looking more confused than scared. He had stopped shouting about Voldemort for a moment, much to Petunia's relief.

"How do you know him?" Harry asked, now walking towards him and still breathing heavily. "How do you know Voldemort?"

"That's a very complicated question," Albus said kindly. "Let's just say I'm not a big fan of him, either. I know how confused you must be, Harry…I can explain a lot to you, if you'd like. Like I said before, I know some place safe where you can stay. _If_ your aunt and uncle allow it, of course."

This man knew Voldemort. Maybe he could help? Or maybe he couldn't…maybe it was all a trap. Just one big trap for Harry to fall into again. He was done trusting people after picking up that old, battered hat. His guard was up, standing tall against every piece of distrust he could possibly run in to. No. Intruders. Allowed.

Uncle Vernon was shouting at this man. Albus Dumbledore. Saying that he had no right to take Harry away, but Harry was barely paying attention because he had just remembered hearing this man Dumbledore's name before….

"_It was very surprising for me to hear that you weren't aware of the wizarding world at all," Voldemort said with a cold smile. "I have to admit, I had expected differently. If you were introduced to magic and Hogwarts, maybe you'd be under Dumbledore's command against me. Lucky for me, though, you haven't gotten a scrap of information on magic…."_

Harry shook the memory away, making his mind escape the graveyard. Even just remembering one little piece of what had happened was…too much… But if Dumbledore would've had someone under his command _against_ Voldemort, then wasn't he good? Bad people didn't go against Voldemort. Bad people _joined_ Voldemort. "Bad" was an understatement. More like... evil. Harry had thought the Dursleys were evil, but they were Saints compared to the acts of torture performed by Voldemort and his followers.

_Death Eaters_.

Harry couldn't help but remembering those cloaked people, the Death Eaters, with masks hiding their identities. And with that came more memories…he'd not only seen horrible things, but heard things, too. Things that Voldemort had said and the Death Eaters nodded at. Things that he wished weren't true.

His parents didn't die in a car crash.

Harry quickly turned his attention to the room around him, sacrificing having to hear the screams of the argument instead of remembering the graveyard.

There were shouts from the Dursleys and deep phrases of reason from Dumbledore. The one person who might. Help him. But his guard was still up, fiercely protecting the trembling Harry behind it.

"We stay here for now," Harry said breathlessly. And since he wasn't going to be the first to explain a thing, he demanded, "Tell me everything."

* * *

**Author's Note: **And that's it for chapter one. When Harry thinks about the graveyard scene, it's very very similar to what happened in the graveyard in book four (for your reference) except Cedric was not there. Sorry if I've confused you. Hopefully the info at the beginning cleared out some things. Thanks for reading, and chapter two will come out sometime later on next week :)


	2. Apparating is Somewhat Uncomfortable

**Author's Note: **Hey guys! I am back with chapter two :) Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, I really do appreciate it. So without further ado, here is the second chapter :) Oh wow, I overuse smileys, it's ridiculous.

**Warning:** This chapter contains some language in Harry's POV, and that is one of the reasons that this story is rated T. I do not personally promote cursing.

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Two: Apparating is Somewhat Uncomfortable_

"So, sweetie, do you have everything packed for school?" Jane asked after an awkward ten-minute silence at the dinner table.

And _that_ was why Hermione had been hiding.

"Sort of."

She had most of it packed. There were still some things that needed to be put away in her school trunk, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to pack it all yet. That would make her return to school all too real, and she wasn't ready for that, even if it _was_ three days away.

"Do you need help?" her mother offered. "I mean, our new neighbors invited me over, but I could cancel the plans, if you'd like?"

Hermione almost said, "No, thanks, I can handle it myself," but that would have been a complete lie. Maybe, just this one time, she'd come out of hiding and allow herself to be with her mother for one last time before term began.

"Sure. Thanks," she replied with a smile before taking another forkful of her meal.

"Have you talked to that Neville boy?" Carl interjected after a few minutes of a silence that was somehow less awkward, now that Jane had broken the ice.

Hermione didn't need to look at her father to know he was glaring at her, as though Neville would somehow sense this from miles away. "Not since last week, dad," she said impatiently. "I don't see why you hate him so much."

Actually, she _did_ see why he'd hate Neville. It was in his nature as the father of a teenage girl to hate any boy she communicated with. But really, Carl didn't have much to worry about: Hermione had never had a boyfriend, or anything nearly close to it, and she felt as though that was the way things were going to be for a very long time.

And Hermione had never felt anything romantic towards Neville. He was just her friend – her _only_ friend, and vice versa. The two shared many things in common: unpopularity, a desire for success (even though Hermione was admittedly better in this department), and generally disliked by other classmates. From their first year at Hogwarts, they were stuck with each other, with nobody else to turn to.

"Just looking out for my Hermione," Carl said. "And I don't _hate_ him."

"Mhmm," Hermione said distractedly, curling her lips. Jane laughed. And that was why Hermione wanted to stay at home.

"Is he a prefect, too?" Jane asked a few moments later. "It would be nice to get along with the other prefect of your house."

Hermione didn't like talking about school. She wished her mother would bring up something, _anything_, else besides school.

"No, he's not," Hermione said with a frown. "I'm not sure who the boy is, but I'm sure I won't get along with him."

Carl gave her an appreciative nod.

"Oh, don't say that," Jane said. That was generally her attitude: look on the bright side of things, see the glass half full, don't be such a _downer_. "Who knows what could happen?" she asked with a wink. "And –"

"Could you pass the salt, please, honey?" Carl interrupted after clearing his throat.

Jane, getting the message after passing the salt and seeing her husband's expression, let the topic go but began to ask Hermione about the prefect duties she had.

"Can we not talk about school anymore?" Hermione asked twenty minutes later, when she and her mother were sitting in Hermione's room, packing up the rest of her school stuff.

Hermione had been right: there was no way she would have been able to put all of this away by herself. It wasn't physically straining at all, but the emotional strain of it would have been overwhelming. Taking all of her school possessions and removing them from the floor of her room – where they were safe – to her trunk was only too relatable to her own removal from her home, that was to happen in just three days. _Three days._

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Jane said, looking up from folding a set of school robes. "I know that it's bad enough for you that school is beginning in just a few days."

Hermione could only nod as she put away a small pile of books. She was afraid that if she spoke again, she'd begin to cry, and she never cried in front of her mom. Usually her crying moments were spent late at night, long after her parents had fallen asleep…her habits of not sleeping until past midnight had transferred over to home and they were virtually unbreakable, so she was stuck with insomnia on top of everything else.

"But, you know," her mother continued with a small smile, "I have a feeling that this year will be much different."

Hermione sighed. Of course Jane would _still_ continue to talk about school…she didn't understand just what her daughter endured during the school year. If she did, she wouldn't even begin to talk about it.

"Like I've said before, you lost so much weight! Boys will be _all over you_!" Jane squealed.

Hermione knew that her mother meant well when she put her on a strict diet and brought her along to her visits at the local gym. Jane had assumed that her daughter would have more self confidence if she lost all of her baby fat and had a more toned form…but even an appealing figure didn't make Hermione content with herself. Even if she _was_ happy with herself from it, her classmates would find a way to ruin the way she saw her own reflection. Again.

"I doubt it," Hermione managed to choke out, blinking quickly and looking upwards.

"Oh, sweetie, don't be such a _downer_," Jane said. "This year is going to be different. I promise."

. . . . .

So Harry knew everything…well, not _everything_, but enough to understand just how fucked up this situation was.

Surprisingly, most of what Voldemort said was true, no matter how biased his hatred was. Harry's parents _were_ murdered by the very man he'd just encountered. He had always thought they died in a car crash. That was the story he'd been told by the Dursleys, but then what reason did he ever have to trust _them_?

And the Dursleys had known about magic. Each of them yelped nervously when the word "magic" was brought up. A part of Harry couldn't blame them for being nervous around it…he could not imagine seeing magic ever. Again.

Dumbledore said there was good magic. Good magic? Harry couldn't imagine. _Good_._ Magic_. Magic he'd seen was horrible, Dark, scarring…even just thinking about magic made him remember green jets of light shooting at him, the pain his body had endured, the things he'd been forced to see….

"You can go to Hogwarts as a student. You'll be very safe there," the man named Dumbledore was now saying.

The word "safe" had a new meaning to him now: far away from Voldemort.

"You will meet many people your age there," he continued. "I'm sure you'll make plenty of friends."

"But aren't I famous?" Harry asked numbly. _Famous_. It was odd to hear the empty word. He certainly didn't _feel_ famous.

"Yes, I'd say you're very popular amongst our kind."

"Then nobody would _really_ want to be my friend," he said slowly. "They'd just want me because of my fame."

"Well –" Dumbledore began, but a new thought struck Harry that could not be contained.

"If I _am_ famous, why didn't anyone rescue me from this shithole?" Harry asked.

"Please don't curse in front of me, Harry," Dumbledore said, but Harry ignored him.

"How come I don't even have a pound to my name? If I'm so famous, people would want to see me, wouldn't they? _Your kind_ don't really care…if you did, I'd be living with you people a long time ago."

"I understand your frustration, Harry. I do. There are certain laws –"

"You people have a _government_?" Vernon Dursley interrupted, startled.

"Yes," Dumbledore said calmly, then he continued as though Vernon had never spoken in the first place. "There are certain laws that prevent anyone from forcing those under the age of eighteen – the Muggle coming-of-age – to attend school without a guardian's permission."

Vernon shouted at once: "Don't go blaming this all on _me_, you – you –"

"We did want to communicate with you, Harry. Each year before school, we sent a Hogwarts letter. That was our one annual hope, the one chance we had. The Ministry has their own eyes set on this house, making sure that nobody gets in contact with you until we have permission from your legal guardians."

"That's bullshit," Harry said bluntly.

"I understand why you're mad, but please don't curse in front of me," Dumbledore said for a second time, closing his eyes briefly. "If there was not so much at stake with taking you away from here, then we would have been there in a heartbeat. Of course, I am breaking the law now, and I'm not sure if the Ministry will be forgiving even if this _is_ an emergency."

He then turned to face Vernon. "I would greatly appreciate it if you signed this," he said, extracting a piece of paper from his pocket. He had brought the letter along with him to Number Four, Privet Drive, in the hopes of getting legal permission from the Dursleys once and for all. "Harry will only have to return during the summers. Other than that, he will be out of your hair. And he would not be allowed to perform magic while away from school."

Perform. Magic? Had Harry heard correctly? He was _seriously_ being expected to perform magic, after what had happened? There was no such thing as. Good. Magic. A part of him wished that Voldemort had finished him off…then he wouldn't have to keep seeing hallucinations full of Dark memories every time he turned around….

"Oh, fine, since he knows about _you lot_ already," Vernon said haughtily, taking the letter and extracting a pen from his pocket. He signed quickly then looked at the foyer walls just as Petunia had; as though he thought the neighbors would see him sign a document as odd as this one.

And just like that, Harry was being led outside without real awareness of his own actions. Dumbledore's old, wrinkled hand had surprising strength as it held onto Harry's right arm.

"Where are we going?" Harry demanded, trying to shake himself from Dumbledore's grip.

The darkness around him was too familiar to the pitch black night that surrounded his screams of pain in the graveyard. What if Voldemort was here, waiting in the shadows for the perfect moment to ambush them? Or maybe he had sent Death Eaters to keep an eye on Harry and watch for the perfect opportunity to attack once again. After all, they knew where he lived…Wormtail had approached him right in front of Number Four, Privet Drive. And that was where Harry had grabbed the portkey. Or at least, "portkey" was the word Dumbledore had described it as. It was a common household object that could transport you anywhere…and Harry's portkey had transported him to hell.

Thinking of the portkey reminded him of his escape. For some reason, after hearing about magic, anything seemed possible. He had remembered that the old, battered hat had somehow brought him there, so couldn't it bring him back? Within a moment, he found himself untying the knots discreetly…Harry had his own bag of tricks: he knew how to hot-wire cars, pick locks, and untie very complicated knots. They had underestimated him; within a minute, he was free, and the Death Eaters screamed odd words that sounded either Latin or Greek or both: spells…Dark, horrible spells…. There were many green jets of light trailing him, and Harry didn't want to know what they did…

And then he had seen the hat. He lunged for it just as he felt another jet of light miss him by an inch. And he was back.

"Somewhere safe," Dumbledore said, barely opening his lips to utter the words.

"Hogwarts? Already?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows.

"No, not yet," the older man said, again being nearly inaudible and looking as though he hadn't spoken at all. Was he muttering so discreetly because Voldemort might've been around? When he spoke, he confirmed Harry's worst fears: "Look, Harry, it's too dangerous to talk here. You'll just have to trust me."

Harry, whose guard was still up, was not prepared to really trust anyone, so he didn't say anything.

Dumbledore took out his wand – or at least, what it seemed like – and Harry stayed as far away as he possibly could while under the man's strong grip. A pen and piece of parchment appeared out of nowhere.

Out of nowhere. Thin air. Like how Harry had appeared…from Privet Drive to the graveyard…and back again…. What else was this man going to conjure? Were they _really_ just a harmless pen and piece of parchment? There was no way Harry could associate with Dumbledore if he was going to use. _Magic_. There was no such thing as "good magic".

"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said the moment Harry jumped. "I should have warned you. I am merely writing down where we are going."

"Writing…down…?" Harry asked distractedly, barely aware of anything anymore. He was still staring at the pen and paper, expecting it to mutate into a Death Eater or Voldemort, or perform some kind of Dark spell of its own.

"For obvious reasons," Dumbledore said, barely inaudible, although now that Harry thought of it, it was pretty obvious: he did not want to be overheard.

Seeing the older man even nervous about saying anything too secret outside made Harry even more scared. Nobody was safe here. Or anywhere, really…at least, that applied to Harry. He actually could not imagine ever feeling safe again. Dumbledore began to write with that bloody pen onto that bloody piece of parchment. Harry shut his eyes, expecting some sort of spell to happen, or a Death Eater to appear from thin air, but nothing happened. He was still very nervous, though, when Dumbledore moved the parchment so that Harry could see it…Harry didn't even move to hold the paper. He still didn't feel secure. Yet he found himself tilting his head to read the slanted handwriting:

_The Order of the Phoenix Headquarters is located at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place_

But within a second, the paper crumbled unto itself and eventually turned into untraceable dust. Harry jumped back. What was going to happen next? Would it burst into flame? He looked around…where were the Death Eaters? Voldemort? Were they still lurking in the shadows?

"That was supposed to happen, Harry," Dumbledore reassured him. "Now, hopefully you've memorized that, because I need to take you there now, before someone spots us."

_Before someone spots us_. That made Harry even more uneased. At this point, he didn't really care where they were going, as long as it was away from here, where all of the shadows seemed darker and scarier than they'd ever been.

"I need you to promise that you won't try to break away from me," he said in the eerie silence.

"Why?" Harry demanded.

"Promise me."

Well, Harry had nothing to loose. "Sure, why the hell not," was his form of a promise.

"Please don't curse in front of me," Dumbledore said. "Okay, you will feel a little bit of discomfort and some dizziness. I wish we could get to where we need to go another way, but I'm afraid this is our last resort. Now on the count of three…."

On the counter of three _what_? What the hell was going to happen?

"One…"

Harry shut his eyes again, feeling stupid, but how he looked was the last of his worries at the moment.

"Two…"

Oh God, what was going to happen? Harry was shaking. If they were going to this Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, then couldn't they just drive there? What kind of magic was going to happen _now_? Didn't Dumbledore understand just how dangerous it was?

"Three…"

Harry barely had time to think about anything else as Privet Drive and he was squeezed through the air, as though it could not possibly contain his mass…every particle of him was being pressed on from every possible angle…. There was no such thing as good magic! …. What was going on? Where was he being pulled? Or pushed, rather… He would've thought of this as painful before the graveyard, but now that he had endured so much pain within the few hours he was stuck in Voldemort's wrath, this was absolutely nothing. Although it was dizzying…the world was nowhere, somehow, as he was pushed through the air in some odd universe…and his heart was racing and was also being squeezed to its limit.

Somehow he knew that all of this happened within a split second, yet in his mind, it had seemed like an eternity of twisting and squeezing through thin air. It was different from a portkey, he thought to himself as his feet gratefully landed solid ground. _What the _fuck_ just happened?_ He opened his eyes and saw that where ever they were, it was still night, and light from the street lamps from was fading by the slowly passing seconds, as though someone was turning them off, one by one. And Harry saw that the lights were, in fact, being turned off by Dumbledore: he was holding a small little shiny object that literally took the orbs of light and absorbed them.

It was too much. Within a few seconds, Harry found himself grasping for a nearby railing, leaning over, and puking his guts onto the pavement beneath him. The burning sensation in his throat somehow burned all of his other worries, even for just a moment, as he lurched forward again and let everything go.

He felt too sick, so sick of the world.

Sick of _every. freaking. thing._

He hasn't realized that he had so much in his stomach…but maybe it was better this way, to empty out all his guts and start all over again, because this life was too sick for him.

Sick….

He felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped; but when he turned, he saw that it was just Dumbledore. It was odd to have someone's hand on his shoulder like that, it was almost comforting…something Harry hadn't genuinely felt before.

"Let's go inside," Dumbledore said softly before turning around and facing the apartment building in front of them.

There was Number Eleven and Number Thirteen, but no Number Twelve. What the fuck? But before Harry could ask, he was leaning forward again and relieving even more of his lunch back onto the pavement. His throat flared up again and after a few moments, he was able to stand up straight again, composing himself.

Dumbledore didn't offer a gesture of comfort, although Harry didn't have his hopes up in the first place; when he turned back towards the apartment building, there was a Number Twelve between Eleven and Thirteen, as though it had appeared out of nowhere. Harry didn't even bother to ask this time. Everything was just so fucked up.

Harry stumbled up the stairs and Dumbledore, just to his left, knocked on the door. Within moments, the door opened and a pale arm reached out and gestured them inside. Harry took one last sweeping glance behind him, wondering if this was the last time he'd see the outside world, then wondering if he even cared anymore, then stepped inside. Dumbledore immediately followed suit, and the door was closed.

The darkness of the long hallway before him made him almost forget what the outside world even looked like already. There was dust everywhere, and his stomach threatened – yet again – to reject whatever could've possibly been left there. There were shadows here, too. When would he ever escape from them?

"Oh my – oh my, Dumbledore, is this him?" a female voice said from the darkness, making Harry jump. He could just barely make out the outline of a short, plump figure. "He looks _awful_! Then again, given what's just happened…oh, the poor dear…."

"Yes, this is him. When did you get here, Molly?" Dumbledore asked. "I thought that you and Arthur were bringing your family here tomorrow morning."

"Well, I wanted to be here to help with the first sweep of the home. Arthur's still at work, and it would look odd if _every_ member of the Order suddenly had to leave the Ministry. The rest of them are showing up tomorrow morning," the woman named Molly said quickly. "So far, Sirius has done an okay job with cleaning up the rest of the house, but a lot still needs to be done. I guess he never really expected guests…and most of the house is somewhat safe."

"_Somewhat_ safe?" Harry whispered. It was too dangerous, he felt, to actually speak in a regular voice while surrounded in darkness…he never knew what might be lurking in the shadows.

"Well, we've gotten rid of all the dangerous jinxes and curses. Just watch your step, that's all," the woman's voice told him, as though dangerous jinxes and curses in a house were the most natural thing in the world. "We've just settled in, so it'll take some time to clean things up."

Somehow that wasn't comforting.

"And you must be _starving_!" the voice continued.

This woman seemed very motherly…almost too motherly. He wasn't used to this. Harry felt a pat on his arm, and then he was being dragged again, but not by Dumbledore this time. He was pulled into this dark hallway by a stranger…and it reminded him of the graveyard again.

The graveyard, where he'd been tortured in a similar darkness…listening to Voldemort's and the Death Eater's laughter at his misery…wishing that it would all end right there…somehow managing to escape from his wrath….

"There's plenty of food, I've cooked enough for everyone who's helping clean up the place…of course, you don't have to help out with anything at all, dear…and really, cleaning up everything is the least of our worries now," the woman's voice thankfully pulled him out of his thoughts.

Eventually they met the end of the dark hallway, where there was a brightly lit room: thank freaking God. His eyes burned, so he was temporarily blind from the bright lights, but at least it was away from any sort of darkness, even for a little while.

"Oh my!" the woman named Molly exclaimed.

Harry blinked quickly as his vision became his once again in a haste to see what was going wrong. His heart was pounding with anticipation, and then slowly the outline of a figure was visible: it was Molly, but she wasn't looking at anything else in the room…she was staring at him.

"Oh my, oh my…" she repeated, clasping her hands over her face. "You look _terrible_…oh, just terrible…here, how about you sit down and – oh my, oh my – I'll give you a year's worth of food! You don't have to worry about anything. Oh my, you look so _awful_!"

Harry couldn't imagine just how terrible he looked: if he looked anything like how he felt, then he could easily empathize with Molly. He looked away and scanned the rest of the room, because seeing her reaction to him made everything all too real. It looked as though this room had been dug up from decades ago, and it was barely habitable, but at least it was well lit, and as his vision was coming back he figured he'd stay anywhere as long as it was lit: he couldn't have handled one more minute in that dark, mysterious hallway.

There was an ancient dresser to his left that was shaking, as though a monster was lurking in it and trying to escape. Harry took a few unconscious steps from it, unable to help himself from wondering Voldemort was hiding _here_ now.

"Oh, they're just spiders, dear," Molly said, finally composing herself from gaping at him. She sent him a weak smile. "Or at least, that's what we think they are. I'll have Sirius double-check, just to make sure…oh, dear, you don't even know _Sirius_…oh, dear…." She seemed to be talking to herself more than anyone else as she walked across the length of the room, where piles of food were already waiting.

Harry had never seen so much food, much less eaten so much. His stomach growled, although it wasn't sure if it was even safe to eat after throwing up shortly before.

"Sit, sit," she insisted when she saw him still standing, looking open-mouthed at the food.

Harry snapped out of his trance and walked over to where a long table stood: it looked too old and dusty, as though it would collapse against the lightest of strains. The chairs looked similar, and so it was no wonder that he gently pressed his hand against the seat first and tapped the legs. When he assumed it was somewhat safe – and nothing too terrible was going to result from him taking this seat – he finally sat down gently in a chair that was facing the closed door: he wanted to see every visitor and potential danger entering the room.

He closed his eyes shut, but he was still alive. How long was he going to live with this paranoia of everything around him? He remembered that just hours before, before he knew about magic or anything of the sort, he didn't have much of a care in the world. Harry would have sat in chairs at random without second guessing a thing, and shadows wouldn't be scary whatsoever…but now he had memories to be scared of….

That Molly woman was still muttering to herself, occasionally saying Harry's and Sirius's – that random man whom she'd mention before, who would check for spiders – name in the same sentence under her breath.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. After all, anyone giving him this much food and showing enough concern couldn't have been that bad…

Molly turned to face him, her face looking very worn compared to her smiling complexion just minutes before, as though she'd seen just what Harry had seen in the graveyard. "Nothing, dear," she said kindly.

"Then who's Sirius?"

Molly dropped a plate of food and cursed aloud. She pointed her wand at the plate and it levitated, cleaned itself off, and the food that had remained on the ground vanished. Harry jumped, afraid that he was going to break the chair but more afraid of what other magic this woman was going to perform. After a few still seconds where he stared at the ground, expecting something else to happen, his racing heart began to calm down and he composed himself.

"Dumbledore didn't tell you," she said, apparently not noticing his reaction to her performing magic. It wasn't a question. "Harry, sweetie, how about I feed you your first course first, and then we can talk? I need to have a quick word with Dumbledore, if you don't mind."

Molly waved her wand again – Harry's heart began to race once again – and a different plate of food levitated across the room, hovering towards Harry as gently as a long black cloak… Harry clutched on to his chair tightly as the plate finally landed on the table in front of him. He found he wasn't hungry anymore. What if the magic had messed it up somehow? What if it was cursed?...How long was he going to be afraid of everything?...

"I'm sorry," she said breathlessly, walking towards him, "I should have known you'd react to magic like that…oh, you poor thing…I'll be right outside in the hallway, call if you need anything," Then she leaned over the table and gently patted his hair – making it impossibly messier – and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry was alone. He couldn't help but hear odd noises from every crevasse of the room…he wasn't sure if he was imagining that, or if there were more spiders hiding. Molly had _said_ there were spiders, but what if spiders were different here? What if they were bigger and more dangerous in this world? Why would they leave Harry alone with creatures if he couldn't defend himself? He looked around the room for some sort of weapon, just in case, and spotted it. Of course, there would be a knife in a room like this.

He tentatively got up from the table – he'd lost his appetite, anyways – and walked across the room, carefully taking each step as though it was going to be his last. He made it: he grabbed the knife that Molly had used for cooking and turned, trying to retrace his steps that he knew were safe. The whole journey, he realized as he slowly sat back down, must've taken at least five minutes. Is this how things were going to be? Living in fear…even afraid to walk across a dining room?

Well, at least he had the knife and his reflexes. Dumbledore had told him that Harry's father had very good reflexes, and played a game called Quidditch. James. His name was James. And his mother was very good at Charms and Potions, and she grew up with Muggles, too. Her name was Lily. Harry had never known his parents' names…he was always too afraid to ask…_Don't ask questions_ was the first rule of living under the Dursleys' roof. James and Lily had died for him. _That_ was what he had learned from Voldemort, unfortunately. And Harry was the spitting image of James, apparently. Except for his eyes. Those were from his mother. All this time, he never knew….

He was so deep in thought about his parents that he had to blink quickly and look up in order to not look like a pansy, or something ridiculous like that. And just as he faced the chandelier hovering over the room, soaking in light, the door opened.

Harry barely had time to grab the knife on the table before he saw someone walking in, but then he relaxed when he noticed it was just Mrs. Weasley. Although he couldn't bring himself to completely let go of his weapon, as though it had become glued to him.

"Oh, I just _knew_ I shouldn't have left you alone!" Mrs. Weasley scolded. She walked over with a brisk gait, then leaned over the table, extended her arm. The glare in her eyes was just daring him to test her, so Harry found himself handing over the kitchen knife. Her glare disappeared and she smiled.

As Molly turned away and walked back towards the plates of food, his line of vision towards the doorway was restored, and he saw that there was someone lurking there, half-covered in a large shadow. Couldn't Molly see this intruder? Wasn't she going to do something about it? Harry quickly stood up from his seat – nearly breaking the delicate seat in the process – and Molly turned around, asking, "What's wrong?"

One glance towards the man in the doorway told Molly just what was wrong.

"Oh, come in," Molly said casually, waving the man inside. Her casual voice didn't match her expression: she looked worried, glancing from Harry to the man and back again.

The man walked in, and Harry could instantly relate to him: he looked like he'd seen and heard things he'd rather not, as well. Had he encountered Voldemort, too? Was that why he looked so gaunt and distressed? The light looked odd on him, as though he'd been surrounded by darkness for too long…as though that suited him better.

"Hi, Harry," the man from the doorway said with a smile that stretched the pale skin of his face. "I'm Sirius Black."

* * *

**Author's Note: **This chapter was very long compared my usual chapter length, but I just couldn't help but be way too descriptive about things. Harry being very nervous around magic is a huge part of the story, so I want to make sure I've established that well enough before we plunge into the rest of the story. Thanks for reading! :)


	3. Nobody Will Understand You

**Author's Note: **Hello! (: I'm back with the next chapter. I always say that, even though it's obvious that this is the next chapter. Harry's POV is happening more often because lots of shit is going down. We'll see more of Hermione later on :)

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Three: Nobody Will Understand You_

Before Harry could think or move, Dumbledore walked in and patted Sirius on the back.

"Ah, I see you've met Sirius. He's been nice enough to give us his old home," Dumbledore said kindly.

Sirius merely nodded; he was still staring at Harry, making Harry a little uncomfortable.

"Er, hi," he said, nodding to Sirius and sitting back down. "I'm Harry." But he probably already knew that…he still wasn't used to this whole fame thing yet.

"I know," Sirius said with another smile. He walked across the dining room and sat across from where Harry was sitting. Harry inched away a little, his guard still strongly holding up. Sirius pointed to Harry's food. "Aren't you hungry?"

He looked down at his food stupidly. He'd completely forgotten all about it. "Lost my appetite," Harry said briefly with a shrug.

"But you need to eat," Molly interjected, walking the length of the room to give Sirius a plate of food equally vast. "You look so _thin_ and – well, you just look malnourished, dear. Eat up!"

"She has a point," Sirius added quietly, as though he regretted saying it.

But who did they think they were, _his parents_? He had gone from the Dursleys not giving a shit about him, to people who were actually forcing him to eat. The Dursleys preferred him not eating, and sometimes he'd been through periods of starvation as a form of punishment.

"I'm really not hungry," Harry insisted.

"Harry experienced side-along Apparition," Dumbledore said, as though this was the only possible reason he could lose his appetite. Nothing to do with Voldemort or anything, not at all.

Sirius nodded, but Molly didn't seem to be happy with this explanation. "Do you two not see just how _awful_ he looks? I don't care if he's Apparated from across the world, the boy needs to eat!"

Harry gave a defeated sigh and began slowly picking at his food, and it was _fucking delicious_. Appetite or not, he found himself eating more uncontrollably. Maybe this place wasn't so bad if it had lots of delicious food, even if that man named Sirius did keep staring at him like he had never seen another person before in his life.

There was a long minute where there was complete silence other than Harry eating as quickly as possible because he'd never tasted food like this before. Aunt Petunia's food was crap compared to this…_any _food was crap compared to this….

"I've explained mostly everything to Harry," Dumbledore announced, uncovering the blanket of silence that had covered them all. "And I've got his guardian's permission to attend Hogwarts."

Molly clapped her hands together and beamed at him. "Oh, Harry, that's wonderful! You'll meet my kids tomorrow. Ginny's a year below you, and my twins – Fred and George – are two years older. Ron is your age, and I'm sure you that you'll all get along just fine."

Great. While Harry didn't completely mind Molly, he didn't give a crap about her kids. If they looked anything like her, Harry would be surrounded by tons of gingers for God knew how long. Would they swoon over him because he was famous? Would they avoid him if he looked just as awful as Molly said he looked? Although, really, this wasn't a huge problem. Everything that would have been a problem for him before the graveyard now just seemed like minor worries now, nothing compared to what he'd lived through in the graveyard.

Hogwarts sounded interesting the way Dumbledore described it: composing of four Houses (Harry's parents had been in Gryffindor, which automatically made him feel like he needed to be in that particular house), with each Houses having their own common room and dormitories, which meant that being chosen for a certain House meant literally living with the same people from that House. Harry had been too scared at the moment – and he still _was_ a little scared – to ask if he was going to be thrown into the curriculum just like every other student.

"We will have a special schedule set up for you, of course," Dumbledore said, as though he had read Harry's mind. Behind him, Molly was hastily making more food…it seemed like there was far too much food, even if there were other people in the house cleaning it up…it was as though this was her big distraction, and she'd continue to cook for as long as needed that. Harry couldn't blame her: he wouldn't have minded a distraction of his own. "We will put you in the same classes as other fifth years, but once I have informed them of your situation, I assure you that all of your teachers will, what do they say? 'Go easy' on you for the first few months. You will have private lessons with each teacher for thirty minutes each, primarily covering the basics. And of course you'll be expected to study in order to catch up as quickly as possible."

Harry nodded, barely taking in anything but appearing like he did. If he was being completely honest with himself, he didn't give a shit about school. It was always the least of his worries, even when he was at a normal high school. He wasn't even sure if he was going to be able to perform magic, since he seemed too nervous around it. How was he supposed to fit in with these people if he couldn't perform magic? Maybe he didn't really belong here…

And why were they all beating around the bush? Hadn't Voldemort returned? Dumbledore said that Voldemort had been at large before Harry had apparently destroyed him as a one-year-old, and so Voldemort's last victims were James and Lily Potter. It still blew his mind.

Where were the teams of good guys assembling to take him out? Or were they too busy cleaning the stupid house? None of them understood just what Voldemort was like, what a threat he was! Had _any_ of them – besides Dumbledore, as he'd told Harry of his encounters with the enemy – even met Voldemort face-to-face? At least, if they did, they had magic on their side…Harry had been completely defenseless.

"What's gonna happen now?" Harry asked in the silence. He didn't want to be treated delicately…he wanted to know exactly what was going to happen.

"I just explained it to you, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly.

"No, not about Hogwarts."

All three of the adults in the room must have understood what he meant. Molly dropped another plate, although she was careful to pick it up manually, seeing as Harry would've jumped at any performed magic. Dumbledore closed his eyes and looked like he was in some kind of disturbed slumber. Sirius just gazed at Harry, open-mouthed.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke. "Nobody knows."

"_Nobody knows?!_" Harry repeated. _What?_ "How could you not know? Voldemort's back, you've got to do something!"

"Defeating Voldemort is not as easy as it may seem," the elder wizard said somberly. "With him fresh in your memory, I'd imagine you would understand that. For now, we are setting up a headquarters – this house – and trying to get as many people on our side as possible before the Ministry discovers what's happened to you."

"But wouldn't you _want_ them to know what's happened?" Harry asked. Wasn't the Ministry on the same side as this Order thing? All of them Good, fighting Evil?

"I'm afraid that not everyone will believe the truth," he said.

"You don't know that," Molly said quietly from her island of food, as though she was trying to convince herself of this.

"Molly, if you believed in the Ministry's cooperation, then you wouldn't have come here when I summoned the Order," Dumbledore told her.

She was silent.

"Why wouldn't they believe us?" Harry asked. _Us_. He'd never belonged to an "us", except when he led his own gang – unfortunately second-best to Dudley's – through school and during free hours when he wasn't stuck in detention.

"Fear," he said simply. "They'd be too afraid to admit that he's back. Especially Fudge, the Minister. He wouldn't want to have the responsibility of fighting Voldemort."

Harry put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, pulling at his own hair to keep him from shouting choice words at the Ministry's actions. So only the Order would believe him. The Ministry would not. Without the force of a government to fight Voldemort, what were the chances of him being defeated? This magical world turned out to be just as full of shit as the normal world, with the only positive point being that he was away from the Dursleys, possibly until the following summer.

- - - - - -

The only negative point of the summer was that she still didn't get any sleep, but Hermione already couldn't wait until the following summer.

It was an hour too late for her parents, and so they were already asleep. Nine o'clock was too early for Hermione. It seemed like every hour circling the clock was too early. She was sitting on her bed, leaning against the headboard and reading. Her eyes scanned each line but she absorbed nothing. After a few more minutes of this, she put the book down and walked across her room to the one window that opened her eyes to the outside world.

The sun was far gone, being replaced with stars and the moon. Hermione pressed her head against the coolness of the window and drew a small heart where her breath condensated the glass…force of habit.

Another long night was waiting for her.

Over the last school year, she waited in the common room or the library every night – whichever was less crowded – until at least midnight. When the Tower was silent, she'd finally retreat to the girl's dormitory, where she would thankfully encounter sleeping versions of the very people she feared daily. She woke up early, too, and her morning routine required little, so she was out of the dormitories before the other girls could awaken from their caskets to haunt her. Sometimes, she'd fall asleep in the common room instead, only to wake up to some sort of trap waiting for her, set by the _boys_ from her year. She never won.

As a result, she'd developed dark circles under her eyes, but it was better than facing the girls in the dormitory. Hermione had already admitted to herself how cowardly it was, but she couldn't help it: she always needed to hide.

When she returned for the summer, she thought that she could count on catching up on all of the sleep that she'd lost. But as it turned out, it had become a dangerous habit of hers that was unable to break. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't fall asleep before midnight. She couldn't even rely on sleeping in: her biological clock woke her up at the same time she'd woken up on school days. Most nights, though, she didn't even get the luxury of falling asleep _at_ midnight: her mind wouldn't rest until several hours after that.

So, it was no use. Her desperation for hiding had turned her into someone with a mild case of insomnia. It was now messing with her overall health, and she couldn't stop it. Although her mother, Jane, had pointed out the dark circles under her eyes, she never stopped to consider just what those dark circles really meant. And Hermione wasn't ready to reveal the problem just yet. After all, she would be out of school in a few years, and then her sufferings would end.

- - - - -

"This is fucked up," Harry said, still gripping his own messy hair to prevent even more curse words from spewing from his mouth.

"Please don't curse in front of me, Harry," Dumbledore said, like a robot for the third time. "But I will agree with you in some sense. This certainly is a sticky situation."

"A _sticky situation_?" Harry repeated, not even able to look at any of them but keeping his gaze on the table. "Voldemort's out there! He's…he's out there, and you're all standing there like nothing's wrong."

"We all know that that's not the case, Harry," Dumbledore began, but Harry cut him off, no longer being able to take this bullshit anymore.

"You don't know! None of you know what it's like to face him while being COMPLETELY DEFENSELSS! I had nothing to protect myself; he just took advantage of me! You don't know what it's like _at all_, you don't even know what I was forced to see and hear! He just used me like some sort of puppet! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT SHIT I HAD TO GO THROUGH, WHAT PAIN I FELT, SO DON'T PRETEND THAT YOU UNDERSTAND BECAUSE YOU _DON'T_!"

Molly had distanced herself from him but gave him a sad look with watering eyes; an expression of obvious sympathy…and he wanted to wipe it right off her face. Sirius and Dumbledore remained calm and unchanged, as though they had expected this outburst all along.

Harry was nearly pulling his hair out from the roots by the time he finished. His breathing was heavy and his lungs were on fire; his throat felt torn open, with bleeding wounds. His heart was beating out of his chest. There were even more wet stains, a product of sweat, around the collar of his shirt. He felt relieved that he'd finally spoke up all of those bottled words, even if the atmosphere was more tense than ever now. They needed to know…they needed to know just how much hell he had had to experience…because none of them could possibly grasp the concept of Voldemort's danger….

"We're not saying that we understand you," the man named Sirius said, who was the last person Harry had expected to speak up. "We could only imagine what you've been through, and we all know it's not fair that this happened."

He looked up to finally look the man in the eyes, and saw that Sirius must've had some unfair things happen to him, too. Maybe he was handsome at one point in his life, but now….nobody looked _that_ gaunt and worn if they'd led a great life. And his attempt at reasoning with Harry was so unexpected that Harry didn't even find himself shouting back in anger. Instead, he nodded to show that he was calmed down…for now.

"I agree with Sirius," Dumbledore said. "It was not fair whatsoever. I assure you, though, that you're safe here. This house has many spells that prevent it from being seen from Death Eaters or even Voldemort himself."

"That's impossible," Harry muttered through gritted teeth, his breath still heavy.

Dumbledore was getting ahead of himself by saying that even _Voldemort_ couldn't see this house. That was just ridiculous: if Voldemort wanted to get to Harry, he would. He told Harry himself.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll soon find that nothing is impossible here," the elder man said calmly.

"You must be exhausted, you poor thing," Molly interjected, clapping her hands together and forcing a smile. Her eyes showed the opposite; she clearly still looked upset, and Harry wondered briefly if she, all along, knew the dangers of the situation they were being forced into. "There's a guest bedroom right on the first floor, I can show you where it is if you'd like –"

"I'm not tired," Harry lied. He was just too afraid to fall asleep. He didn't want to relive the graveyard in his dreams as well.

"Are you sure?" Molly asked hesitantly. "You really do look terrible, sweetie. I think you should get some rest, to take your mind off things for a little while."

All of this "sweetie" and "you poor thing" crap was really driving him up the wall, so he was barely able to keep a calm expression when he declined with, "No, thank you."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair anxiously without even realizing it, as it was a force of habit, but when he heard Molly scream, "Oh my!", he immediately put his hands back by his sides and looked around. But once again, Molly was walking towards him with that worried expression possessing her features.

Oh God, what _now_?

She walked down the length of the table and sat on the table beside him, facing him and grabbing his arm.

"Oh, dear, you're bleeding!" she exclaimed. "Would you mind if I healed this with magic? It won't hurt, I promise, it's just easier that way…"

Harry looked down and saw dried up and fresh blood mixing in some grotesque, crimson wash over his forearm: where Wormtail had taken his blood. The long, jagged cut brought him back to the graveyard to relive how painful Wormtail had made it; he was practically hellbent on reaching Harry's bone, making the injury extremely painful. Just one small slice to extract a little amount of Harry's blood was clearly not enough; he made the process more excruciatingly painful than it needed to be.

He'd also had a fair share of injuries everywhere else, but they were mostly bruises. But his body had been blocking out a lot of physical pain, possibly from shock. If only his body could block out the memories as well.

"It's nothing, er, Mrs.—" he began, not sure of what to formally refer to her as. Her sad eyes and possible understanding of what was going on made him feel like he owed her at least some respect.

"You can call me Mrs. Weasley."

"It's nothing, Mrs. Weasley," he corrected himself.

"Are you sure? I can fix everything up within a second with magic," Mrs. Weasley said urgently, searching him for more injuries. "Do you have any more cuts? Any bruises?" She lifted up the rest of his sleeve, pulled up his shirt, and gave him a huge examination right in front of God and everybody.

He pulled his shirt back down. He didn't like being touched. Harry quickly slid away from her, saying, "No, I'm fine, thanks."

"Er, can I have a moment with Harry?" Sirius asked a few minutes later, after Mrs. Weasley would not settle with Harry's rejections.

Her eyes swiveled to Sirius and gave him a fiery stare. She placed her hands on her hips and opened her mouth to speak words Harry wasn't sure he wanted to hear, but Dumbledore cut her off.

"Of course you can," Dumbledore said kindly.

"But you said –"

"Molly, I'm sure that Sirius is at liberty to tell Harry whatever he wishes. He, out of all of us, deserves to talk to him."

Dumbledore nodded to Harry and Sirius and then left the room, a disgruntled Mrs. Weasley following behind him and shutting the door a little too hard.

"Thanks," Harry said quietly.

_Thanks?_

That was a word he'd rarely ever used.

Harry assumed that Sirius just asked for time with Harry so that Mrs. Weasley could leave and stop being so persistent. In fact, while Harry was a little unnerved while being in a room with a stranger, he felt like he could relate to him.

"I'm sorry," was what Sirius ended up saying, rather than a quick 'Oh, you're welcome'. He did, in fact, look sincere; his haunted eyes had even darker shadows now.

"Wait, what?" Harry asked. What was he apologizing for?

"I'm sorry that I wasn't here for you in the first place," he said somberly.

Harry just stared at him, confused. He willed Sirius to continue, because

"I was a friend of your father's. And God, you look just like him…except your eyes. You have Lily's eyes," Sirius began slowly.

"You knew my dad?" Harry asked with wide eyes, and Sirius nodded, so he added, "Prove it."

Harry hadn't expected anything, but instead, he saw Sirius reach into his robes – Harry remained still for fear of what was going to happen next – and pulled out what seemed like a small piece of paper, until he turned it over for Harry to see: it was a picture.

But it wasn't a normal picture: the people in it were moving, and once Harry had gotten over that, he saw that one of the people in the picture looked like an older version of Harry, with the same nose ears and mouth and the same jet-black, messy hair. That must have been his dad. All his life, he never knew what he looked like…he had always imagined, but he never _really_ knew. But now he did…. And the woman to his right must've been his mother, with the same exact eyes as Harry. She had long, red hair and a pretty face, and she was smiling at the camera. Harry felt a chill run down his spine; it was as though she knew it was him, looking back at her…. And the man to James's other side looked like he was laughing, and he was handsome…he was a happier Sirius.

And just like that, Harry was converted: he was ready to believe anything this man would say.

"From what Dumbledore had explained to us in the past, the Dursleys seem like the worst Muggles imaginable, and I'm sorry you had to live under their roof. I would have contacted you if I was able to."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I won't go in to detail right now, because you've been overwhelmed enough today…"

"No, tell me," Harry said.

He knew that he wouldn't be falling asleep for a while, anyways, because he'd be hiding from potential nightmares. And also, nothing could possibly surprise him anymore. He'd dealt with so much shit that he almost felt numb by now, rather than scared of every single thing. If Voldemort was to walk into the room that very minute, Harry would probably put his hands up in surrender without feeling a thing. Maybe it was better this way…maybe it was his mind's defense, to suddenly be numb to everything and willing to take on anything.

Sirius sighed. "I was locked up in the wizarding prison called Azkaban for a very long time for a mass murder I didn't actually commit. I only just got out two years ago, when another good friend of your dad's put the pieces together while he was working at Hogwarts. He found the real culprit, who'd been hiding in a certain part of Hogwarts to see if you'd show up there, on Voldemort's orders. His name was Peter Pettigrew, but his nickname was Wormtail."

"Wormtail?" Harry repeated, clutching the arms of his chair tightly.

"You know him?" Sirius asked with one raised eyebrow.

"He's the one who got me into the graveyard in the first place, and tied me up when we got there."

Harry hadn't actually told Dumbledore that he'd been tied up…in fact, he didn't tell Dumbledore a lot of the details about what had happened, and luckily the elder wizard didn't push for those very details. Somehow, though, Harry found himself revealing the events to Sirius like it was no problem at all.

"And," Harry continued, swallowing hard, "he cut off his own – his own hand, like he was sacrificing it to Voldemort, and he took my blood, too, that's how I got that cut…"

Sirius looked at the cut oddly, then spoke: "He committed the real mass murder, yet I was charged for it. I was stuck in the wizarding prison, so I couldn't contact you at all. I did manage to escape – although _that_ is another story in itself – and so the media, of course, made it sound like a serial killer was on the loose. I couldn't go out in the open for anything. Once Remus told Dumbledore that I was innocent, they convinced me to stay here, and they put enough security measures around the place."

So he'd been in prison… Harry was surprised at himself for not being alarmed by this. He knew that Sirius had been through a terrible ordeal: his worn face was more than enough proof. And if he'd really been on Voldemort's side, he would've handed him over already… Harry felt more comfortable here than he thought he would. Sirius wasn't beating around the bush or trying to tiptoe around Harry whatsoever, and he appreciated it…after all, he wasn't a kid. The graveyard had taken away whatever innocence he'd still had.

"Why did you need to be convinced to stay here if it's so safe?" Harry asked.

"Imagine finally getting away from the Dursleys for good, and then years later having to return to the very house you hated," Sirius said with a pained expression.

"Oh." So Sirius didn't like his childhood house, either.

"But when Dumbledore started bringing up his theories about how Voldemort was slowly returning, the Ministry didn't believe him – and still won't – and so he had to make up his own plans. He said that the Order of the Phoenix needed to be reformed the moment Voldemort came back, not weeks later. He got enough people on his side, and then I offered to use this house as the Headquarters…it was the least I could do, since I can't go outside without being caught. When he sent all of us letters that said Voldemort was back, half of the members rushed here, and they're all cleaning up the rest of the house. He also told us that you were coming along with him and that you were the one who witnessed Voldemort's return, so we knew it couldn't be good…but of course none of us have any idea exactly what you went through…"

And that one last sentence sent Harry over the edge: he told Sirius everything. He told him about the portkey in the beginning, how he'd ended up at the graveyard…how he was tied down and had his blood taken from him, then saw Voldemort return without knowing anything about him or what was going on…how he was tortured in front of Death Eaters, treated like a puppet, as everyone else laughed at his pain…how he had to listen to Voldemort's preaches about how he had been slowly returning and would finally kill Harry once and for all…everything….

Sirius listened without interrupting him, although there were a few moments when he looked like he was going to say something. He stared at him with a blank face, although Harry could only imagine just what emotions were lying behind that plain mask. When Harry told him about the torture he'd endured, Sirius buried his face in his hands and didn't look Harry straight in the eye until the very end of it. It was painful at first to remember every detail, but at the end he felt a lot more relieved…it was nice to have finally let it all go, it was like releasing every pain he'd been suffering through for the past few hours.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Sirius finally said. "I could have been there for you all along, and you would've known about magic…you would've know about _everything_, and then you could have defended yourself. And I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Harry said weakly.

"No, it is. If I had cleared my name before Pettigrew escaped, then I could have signed –"

"I think that's enough for one day," Mrs. Weasley's voice interrupted, and then Mrs. Weasley herself walked in, wearing that same expression she'd stormed out of the room with. "Harry, you look worse and worse every second! Up to bed, dear…no, no, you really do need some rest, you look _awful_!"

Harry sighed and looked over at Sirius, who looked a million years older and more worn than ever. He surprisingly wasn't putting up an argument. "After everything that's happened, you do need some rest."

Harry finally stood up and allowed Mrs. Weasley to lead him to his new room, where, he felt, he wouldn't get any rest, but relive the graveyard another time in his nightmares.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Now I haven't personally been attacked by Lord Voldemort in a graveyard, and I'm sure you haven't either, so Harry's reactions to what's happened to him are not going to be completely accurate, although I'm researching PTSD for you guys so I am trying my best :) Thanks for reading!


	4. The Daily Prophet Says You're a Runaway

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! Here's the fourth chapter. I've been keeping up with updating weekly, so hopefully it'll stay that way (: Also, I apologize for any super crazy errors I've made in this chapter. I think I need to investigate and see if I can find a beta. I'm only fifteen so I don't have major grammar skills. It's kinda getting ridiculous.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. If you were unaware of this, I'm sorry, but you should really get out more.

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Four: The Daily Prophet Thinks You're a Runaway_

Two nightmares and one regurgitation later, Harry decided to stay awake.

Both of the nightmares were exact replicas of what had happened at the graveyard, and it was hard enough to not think about them while awake. He kept seeing Voldemort everywhere he turned, and even the quietest noise alerted him to danger. It was a relief to reveal everything to Sirius, but at the same time, he couldn't help continue to be paranoid. Was this the way he had to live now?

Harry remembered being fearless. He remembered leading his own gang to everywhere and nowhere, just having a blast without much care for anything. He hadn't cared about grades, his many detentions, his record, or anything like that. That was what made the Dursleys so keen on disciplining him: not because they cared, but because he was an embarrassment to them.

But all this time, they had never mentioned "magic". And for some reason, he actually appreciated that one thing they did for him: keep magic at bay. Harry's life would have been so much easier without magic. There was no good magic, only Dark magic, as Voldemort was only too happy to demonstrate…he used Harry as a puppet in a show with the Death Eaters as the audience, who could surprisingly laugh even with their black hearts.

Harry wanted to rest, to finally slip away from the real world even just for a few moments, but he wanted to stay away from the nightmares even more than that. So he had sat on his bed in the guest bedroom, nervously looking at shadows.

One positive thing about the whole situation was that he wasn't living in that bloody cupboard. He could sleep on an actual _bed_, not the sad excuse for a bed that he'd endured back on Privet Drive. It had been so unbelievably comfortable. Even if he had slept on the floor, it would've been better than a cupboard. He wished he could sleep properly to enjoy having a real bed to sleep on for once.

At one point, the sun came up and its rays barely filtered through the grimy window, although somehow it was Hope. Maybe an hour later, or five hours later – he wasn't sure – he heard Mrs. Weasley's voice downstairs and decided to finally move from his stiff sitting position and go into the kitchen. Although he had puked after reliving the graveyard, his empty stomach did not desire anything else to bother it.

Harry sighed and stretched his back, then walked across the barely-lit room on his way to breakfast. He felt his way along the hallways, still flinching at sudden movements and noises, and nearly tripped down the stairs, but finally, he made it to the closed kitchen door, where there were hushed voices speaking.

"He's terrified of magic…" Mrs. Weasley? Was she talking about _him_?

Were people just as petty here as the residents of Privet Drive? Not wanting to hear another word about him behind his back, Harry opened the door shamelessly and stumbled into the doorway…sleep deprivation certainly had its setbacks.

In the blinding light were Sirius and Mrs. Weasley, turning to look at Harry with surprised looks slowly composing into smiles. Behind them were some random people with flaming red hair sitting at what must've been the long table…Harry rubbed his half-open eyes and finally got adjusted to realize that these random people must've been Mrs. Weasley's children, who looked tired, but not nearly as tired as Harry himself. They were all staring at him, their tired eyes widening to awake, shocked expressions. So this was fame. It was like they thought he wasn't real, and all of the sudden, there he was.

Even a part of Harry wished he wasn't real.

Sirius nodded at him in acknowledgement and sent a genuine smile his way. Mrs. Weasley, meanwhile, crushed him in a hug and said, "Good morning, Harry! I was just about to send breakfast upstairs for you, I thought maybe you wouldn't want to be…" she trailed off, leaning back to inspect him and inhaling deeply before continuing: "Well, we're happy to have you here. And I swear, you've gotten thinner since a few hours ago. Did you get enough sleep? You look _exhausted_!"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry lied breathlessly, pulling away from her and running his right hand through his hair, which was messier than ever.

Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands together and turned towards her children, who were now assuming politeness and avoiding his gaze and returning to mutters of things Harry didn't know or care about.

"Those are the twins…better not be talking about a _joke shop_!" Mrs. Weasley pointed to identical boys, who were the only children of hers who looked older than Harry. They looked at her with sympathetic expressions, although Harry knew those mocking smirks only too well, as he played that card with Aunt Petunia…not successfully.

"That's Ron, he's the one I told you about, who's your age." She pointed to a boy who looked up at Harry and casually waved, only Harry didn't wave back. He had these stupid freckles on his face that would've made him look five if he wasn't so tall…Harry could tell that this Ron would start towering over him if he was standing up.

"And that's Ginny, who's a year younger than you," Mrs. Weasley said, pointing to the only girl. Her cheeks became as red as her hair at the mention of her own name, and she looked at Harry for a second before shyly averting her gaze.

"You can sit right across from Ron, if you'd like," she continued. Before Harry had time to answer, she said, "Great! I'm sure you two will be great friends. Sit, sit!"

Harry reluctantly walked across the room and sat down across from Freckle Boy without looking at him and his stupid freckles. He turned around, looking for Sirius as Mrs. Weasley went to get him some breakfast. Sirius shrugged helplessly, then mouthed, "We'll talk later." It was enough to make Harry somehow stay in his seat without protesting with all his might.

The door opened once again, and a balding man with barely any red hair left, and wearing horn-rimmed glasses, walked in. His eyes immediately found Harry.

"Oh, Harry, this is my husband, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said with a smile. "Arthur, this is…well, you already know who he is."

"Yes, I do," the man, Arthur Weasley, said. He looked like he could also use some rest. He walked over to him and shook his hand. "Nice to finally meet you, Harry."

Within a minute, a huge tray of every breakfast dish imaginable was before him, and Mrs. Weasley's voice was urging him to eat as much as he possibly could.

"Eat everything in sight, Harry…you can even eat some of Ron's food, he needs to keep off the pounds for Quidditch!" she said jokingly.

At this, the kid name Ron's face went red. Ha. Ha. There were some comments from the twins, who were a few seats down, that made him even more flushed.

"He might have some competition, Molly," Sirius said, which Harry wasn't expecting. He snapped his head around to see that Sirius was pointing at _him_. "James was a bloody good Seeker, I'd imagine Harry would be just as good."

"Ron's going for Keeper, Sirius," Mrs. Weasley said, a little defensive.

"Quidditch?" Harry asked, wracking his brains for any possible information on the subject. He remembered Dumbledore bringing it up a million years ago, in the foyer of Number Four, Privet Drive, the house that he wouldn't have to rejoin until the next summer.

"Popular magical sport," Ron began to explain.

"Right, right," he said, remembering. Harry had never played any sports at school, but maybe things could change.

_Everything_ was going to change from now on.

. . . . .

**The Boy Who Lived: A Runaway?**

_The famous Harry Potter, a mysterious boy who we've grown to love and thirst to know about, was missing from his home last night, and is still without a trace!_

_The _Daily Prophet_, number-one selling wizarding newspaper in the U.K. area, has a full report that is nothing short of satisfying for our loyal readers and newcomers alike._

_Our suspicions are aflame: Where has he gone? What exactly happened?_

_There are theories of Harry Potter running away from his residence that is located in a Muggle neighborhood. Motivation behind this action is unknown as of right now, but we can make assumptions._

_According to records, at around ten o'clock last night Harry James Potter was granted permission to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His permission slip that all of us previous and current Hogwarts students remember clearly was signed by a guardian: the boy's Muggle uncle. The Ministry of Magic cannot seem to see a distinct loophole through this authentic signature. There is no explanation as to why Harry Potter's uncle decided just recently to give him permission._

_The moment the slip was signed, in a way it magically bound Mr. Potter to Hogwarts, and so Ministry officials arrived at his residence an hour after he was granted permission to attend Hogwarts._

_But when the officials got there, The Boy-Who-Lived was nowhere to be found. His relatives, who are fully aware of the wizarding world, were less than cooperative._

Why did he run away?

_Perhaps he found out about the magical world and did not find it favorable, even if he was allowed to go to Hogwarts. _

"_The boy could just be scared," Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, told _The Daily Prophet_. "Of course there is nothing magical out there that would want to hurt him, but naturally, want to take a precaution. Muggle dangers are more of a threat in a sense. His whereabouts are a priority. Perhaps, when this is all over and we find him, he will finally get the praise he deserves for defeating He Who Must Not Be Named."_

_This fifteen-year-old is out there, somewhere, and we encourage everyone to keep their eyes peeled. It's very important that he is found. If you, or someone you know, have any information on Mr. Potter's whereabouts, then please do not hesitate to contact the Ministry of Magic immediately. Rewards are held in place for someone who has accurate details on where Harry Potter may be._

_In the mean time, we're on the edge, dying to know more. Keep your eyes open for more upcoming news on the matter exclusively from the _Daily Prophet_._

_For the rest of this article, go to page 2.  
For excerpts of previous articles in the _Prophet_ about Harry Potter, go to page 3.  
For short biographies on James and Lily Potter, go to page 5.  
For quotes accumulating over the years about Harry Potter, go to page 7.  
For quotes accumulating over the years about You-Know-Who, go to page 8.  
For skeptical sightings of Harry Potter, go to page 9.  
For actual sightings of Harry Potter (these may or may not be actual sightings and are not completely reliable), go to page 10.  
For opinions from Hogwarts students about Harry Potter, go to page 12._

"What's wrong?" Carl asked.

Hermione finally put the newspaper down so that she was able to look at her father, tearing her eyes away from the revolutionary news article. "What? I – no, nothing's wrong, dad," she said breathlessly.

"You usually don't read that paper, you just skim it quickly then throw it away," he noted.

"It's important to know the enemy," she said knowledgably. She slid the newspaper away from her and sipped a cup of coffee: it was a stupid American drink that tasted absolutely awful, but it was the only thing that kept her awake. Hermione had endured yet another sleepless night. "I usually just skim it because it's full of rubbish. Unfortunately, a lot of people believe the stuff that's on here."

Carl nodded and then hesitated before asking, "What was so special about today's paper?" He took a bite from his piece of toast and rubbed his eyes behind his spectacles.

"Harry Potter is missing," Hermione said with a shrug of the shoulders. She might have been the only person in the wizarding world who said his name that casually. It didn't even seem like much of a big deal in plain words: _Harry Potter is missing_. In a way, he'd been missing for a very long time. "The _Daily Prophet_ is under the impression that he ran away."

"Harry Potter…?" Carl moved his lips soundlessly, clearly trying to stir his memory at such an early hour. "Oh, right. The boy with the scar. You've told me about him. Isn't he your age?"

"Yes."

"So you've met him?"

"No."

Carl looked at her strangely and took another small bite of toast, once again deep in thought.

"Well," Hermione went on, "when he was younger, he defeated Voldemort, this really evil wizard who I've told you about. But then Harry had to live with his Muggle relatives and nobody's heard from him since. Apparently the Muggles didn't want him to go school, but they gave him legal permission last night. And now he's missing."

"Missing? You don't seem too alarmed."

Hermione shrugged. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for his disappearance."

There was always something that the _Daily Prophet _failed to let the public know. Explanations were lacking. There was just enough information to keep someone assuming, but not enough to keep them informed. The way they mentioned "Muggle dangers" was bollocks. Magical threats were always far, far worse. The Ministry just did not want to insinuate anything even mildly related to Lord Voldemort, whom Professor Dumbledore claimed was slowly gaining power. While nobody else seemed to believe the Headmaster and his theories about Voldemort slowly coming back to power, Hermione found every word of his to be the entire truth. It was one more thing that made her less favorable amongst the other students at Hogwarts.

She remained casual about the situation and didn't want the _Daily Prophet_'s perception to worry her. There was a reason for all of it, right?

Yet somehow the thought of Voldemort rising back to power and Harry Potter's disappearance being linked twisted her stomach uncomfortably….

She took another sip of her coffee before contorting her face in disgust at the taste. She silently prayed that the caffeine would kick in soon…the circles under her eyes were deep shadows, reflecting her lack of sleep.

They fell into a comfortable silence: the two were not the most sociable people under the sun. Hermione kept taking daring sips of coffee, her tired mind still hard at work to contemplate Harry Potter's "kidnapping".

She wondered if she would see him at school. After all, there was a reason behind him being given permission to attend Hogwarts. Maybe he'd come to terms with his part in the wizarding world and be more than happy to be involved in it within the next couple of days. And what if he _was _at school? Everyone would go ga-ga over him, of course. Maybe that would take the attention away from her, even for just a moment, and then perhaps she could fearlessly go to the girls' dormitory earlier and fall into a better sleeping habit. Just maybe.

**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading! :)


	5. You Can Trust Sirius

**Author's Note: **Hey guys! :) There are just a couple of things I'd like to clear up so we're all on the same page: Crookshanks and Hedwig are not in this story :( Crookshanks didn't attack Ron when the trio visited the pet shop because, well, the trio wasn't a trio. And since that first trip to Diagon Alley doesn't exist, neither does Hedwig. Also, Harry's been stuck in the cupboard, and he was _not _moved to Dudley's second bedroom that was normally used for extra toys. As those annual Hogwarts letters were just singular, although they addressed _Harry Potter _who was in _The Cupboard Under the Stairs_ it wasn't alarming to the Dursleys because it was just one letter at a time.

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Five: You Can Trust Sirius_

For most of the day, Mrs. Weasley had tended to all of Harry's injuries. In deep confidence, Mrs. Weasley had told Sirius that there had been very old bruises and scars that weren't from the graveyard. It didn't take a genius to realize that the Dursleys had left their own marks on Harry before letting him live amongst his own kind. But Harry had never revealed to Sirius what really had happened under the Dursleys' roof. He might've relived the graveyard for him, but his life with his aunt and uncle were a secret.

Sirius's heart had been empty for a long time, but then he met Harry. At first, all Sirius could see James's son, James's hair, James's everything. He saw James everywhere. But Harry was different. Harry was broken, brought up by a family that had never loved him, a reflection of a wounded past. He still had the determination and strength of James, but somehow, even that was different. He was stronger. He _had _to be that way.

The moment Sirius had showed Harry the picture of him with James and Lily, he'd gained Harry's trust. He guessed that gaining this young man's trust was one of the world's greatest triumphs. He wished he hadn't met his godson – Merlin, his _godson_! – the way he had, after such a tragedy, but at least they had finally met.

Hearing the truth of what happened in the graveyard made Sirius realize that Harry was perhaps the strongest person he'd ever met. Harry had choked out accounts of being tortured by the Cruciatus Curse for what had, in his tortured mind, seemed like hours. There were gaps of space where Harry didn't include too much detail, but Sirius could respect Harry not wanting to reveal every single detail.

His great escape was certainly due to not only his skill but Voldemort's miscalculations and underestimation of Harry. Sirius had imagined that anyone in Voldemort's presence would have been through a lot, but Harry's story of the graveyard was unique. He'd been used as a defenseless puppet for hours on end. It was a shock just to see the young man standing on his own after what had happened.

Sirius hadn't told Harry that he was his godfather yet. He'd been absorbing enough about this new world. It could wait. And if Sirius didn't feel it was right to tell him by the time Harry hopped on the Hogwarts Express, then oh well. Why did it matter, really? It was just a title…a title he'd wanted to use to his advantage to give Harry permission to go to Hogwarts. But it proved to be useless. Harry didn't need more on his plate than he already had to deal with. When the time was right, he'd reveal their link as godfather and godson. Until then, Sirius was perfectly happy with just being able to talk to Harry.

And they _did _talk, just as Sirius had promised. That evening, Harry and Sirius sat across from each other in the barely-used living room as everyone else in the household was in a meeting in the kitchen. Members of the Order weren't as numerous as everyone had wished, but it was a start. There was talk. _Always _talk. Talk of Voldemort, of Death Eaters, of linked disappearances. Talk of the graveyard.

Luckily, he'd managed to slip away from the talk for a few moments to get to chat with his godson.

His _godson_.

It was still unbelievable to see Harry, right there, sporting bandaged injuries that made the look in his eyes rougher than should've ever belonged to a teenager. But that wasn't a teenage soul behind those green eyes….

"Just look at those stitches, you'll impress girls in no time," Sirius had joked when he saw the result of Mrs. Weasley's obsession over Harry's wounds.

Harry had then told him (in a low whisper, as though the house could hear him) how he'd been with girls before – the easy kind that weren't looking for anything emotionally deeper than a nice snog – but had never had a steady relationship. This surprised Sirius, as he thought the kid would have good morals, just like James, but he supposed that his life back at Privet Drive required that type of careless mindset. Or maybe the kids were just getting crazier and crazier these days. God, he was getting old. Or, at least, old enough that his best friend's son was fifteen years old already and standing at nearly Sirius's height.

Fifteen years. That meant fourteen years ago, James and Lily were taken from Sirius by Voldemort's infamous wrath. That was when Harry's and Sirius's free lives ended; Harry was given to the Dursleys and Sirius was soon to be sentenced to Azkaban.

As they sat across from across each other now, in a comfortable silence that seemed to relax Harry, Sirius spoke up about something he'd been on the fence about confronting.

"Harry, I have something to show you."

Harry looked up from the fireplace, the fiery reflection gone from his eyes, and said, "Okay." The ease of that one word was unexpected. It really did seem like Harry trusted Sirius, and he wasn't about to mess that up.

Slowly, Sirius extracted the newspaper article from his pocket, careful of his godson's reaction. But Harry didn't budge. He just watched curiously without any doubts flickering across his hardened face. Sirius handed over the article wordlessly, and Harry accepted. The young man's eyes scanned the headline with wide eyes. He looked up at Sirius questioningly for a moment, but then looked down to continue reading.

That _Daily Prophet_ article had been thrown away by an angry Mr. Weasley who read the headline aloud that shouted "The Boy Who Lived: Runaway?". Sirius had snatched it up from the trash and read it over. He felt that it was important for Harry to know what the other students at Hogwarts were going to think of him because of this article. They'd all be confused and ask questions, and wouldn't know about Voldemort. He needed to know what to expect, after every unexpected thing that had happened over the last twenty-four hours.

Finally, Harry looked up from the article with shaking hands. "They think – they think I'm a _runaway_?" he asked. "They – they don't know – they don't know about Voldemort." He looked down and anxiously ran his fingers through his hair, making it messier than usual, but he didn't seem to care. He didn't seem to care about anything.

"I thought you should be prepared," Sirius told him. "I didn't mean to make you upset."

"I'm not upset," Harry said with a forced laugh, looking back up at him. "Why would I be upset?"

That was rhetorical.

"It's just…." he continued, shaking his head in disbelief, "Nobody will believe me. You know, about Voldemort. I thought that _you lot _would be smarter than _this_," he referred to the newspaper, "to believe this shit."

_You lot?_ Sirius stared at Harry. "You know that you're a part of us, right?" he asked his godson. "It's not _you lot_. You're with us. Together."

Harry shook his head again but didn't look at him. He stared off into the shadows of the room, and Sirius could only imagine what Harry's mind was making him see in the corners of creeping darkness.

"I don't belong here. Don't try and tell me that I do, because I don't. I can't even _watch _magic happen without freaking out. So how am I supposed to live in a world of magic?" He paused, still looking at shadows with that indescribable look in his eyes. "I don't even belong in the Muggle world. I don't belong anywhere."

"You _do _belong here," Sirius said, sounding on the verge of pleading. He needed his godson to understand how important he was. Sirius couldn't lose him now. He'd just begun to know the young man… "Your parents were great at magic. No, not great, they were _incredible_. I know that you're confused and feel lost, but…Harry, do you trust me?"

Harry looked up from the shadows and blinked before nodding. "Yes." Again, his trust was so easily found in that word. It made Sirius miss him already.

"Then trust me, and believe me, when I say that you belong here, with us. Just hang in there. Everything will work out…maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but one day you'll realize that you belong here. Can you promise me that you'll at least wait it out?"

Harry seemed as though he was going to protest, but he kept his jaw shut and wordlessly nodded once again, still not looking at him. It sent a wave of relief through Sirius. He trusted Harry as much – and maybe more – than Harry trusted him. His godson wasn't going anywhere for now. He'd wait it out. That's all he needed.

There were dark circles under his eyes: reflections of his experiences. Harry's eyelids would occasionally begin to fall, but he'd shiver and they'd open again, revealing his bloodshot green eyes. It seemed as though Sirius wasn't the only one staying up at night.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Sirius suddenly asked without thinking. His brows knitted together in concern. There was another thought on his mind that had been bothering him that whole day, and it was about time to reveal his concern: "Mrs. Weasley was cleaning up your bedroom and saw that you'd thrown up."

He didn't ask Harry why he hadn't reached out to someone for help after throwing up. He wouldn't bother him about not asking for assistance. The young man had lived his whole life without help. Sirius wasn't going to expect him to ask for a helping hand.

Harry sighed, but didn't look guilty. He shrugged. "I fell asleep twice, but I didn't…I didn't like the nightmares. They're too realistic."

Just the thought of what Harry must have relived made Sirius shudder.

_Why?_

Why did this have to happen? Why was Harry plagued by Voldemort as defenseless as a common Muggle? Why did he have to see things that no human being should ever have to see?

Harry looked like a child in that moment. His guard had momentarily collapsed after he revealed what had been really bothering him when he fell asleep and become a victim to his tortured imagination. His rough exterior – enforced by his homelife – had uncoiled and left the vulnerable Harry out for Sirius to see. He kept looking at those shadows, and maybe he was seeing things he didn't want to see. But he was trapped in his own mind.

Maybe he wasn't looking anywhere….

. . . . .

Before Hermione knew it, she was stepping out of the dressing room at a local boutique, where an anxious Jane Granger was waiting to see her daughter in a stupid pink dress.

"Oh, you look _beautiful_, honey!" Jane said.

Hermione was sure she was lying, but she kept her mouth shut and turned to face the full-length mirror that showed a Hermione with dark circles under her eyes that clashed horribly with the light pink of her dress.

She could hear the girls' voices in her head now…

_Are you _starving _yourself now?_

_Is she that desperate for attention?_

_Is she that desperate for _boys_?_

Hermione turned around awkwardly, by the request of her mother, and tried to feel _anything_ from this dress. It wasn't too formal, but it wasn't too casual. It would've been beautiful…on someone else. She could imagine it on a pretty girl and was surprised that she wasn't even envious. She wasn't anything. She was just Hermione.

"You don't like it." It wasn't a question.

"No, it's okay," Hermione lied.

"Don't lie to me."

Hermione sighed. "Okay, I don't really like it," she admitted quietly.

"You look beautiful, and you don't need a dress to bring out that beauty. Isn't that what I've been telling you for years?"

Her mother had been trying to get confidence into Hermione in every possible way…pep talks, makeovers, new wardrobes…but no matter what, her attempts always failed and they both knew it. The damage done at Hogwarts just couldn't be healed.

It was stuck with her.

Hermione twisted at odd angles, a little embarrassed about looking at her reflection because someone might draw the wrong conclusion, and tried to find one angle where she looked actually looked nice. There was a small bow around her waist, which almost gave her curves, but it wasn't nearly good enough to actually give such a good illusion. Even after her strict diet and exercise routine, she hadn't been hiding a perfect body underneath all of that baby fat. Her stomach was flat and her legs were strong, but that was the only appeal that she really found.

The dress wasn't too revealing, but it also wasn't something a nun would approve of. It wasn't some sort of sultry, sexy, strapless dress – strapless dresses just wouldn't work with her non-existent chest – and the plain pink fabric didn't have any sequins or a frilly hem, which might've been the only truly positive things about it.

"Do I even need a dress?" Hermione asked. She was directing the question to anyone and anything: her mom, God, the world. Anyone who would listen and give her the answer she wanted.

"It's just in case you go to that Hogsmeade village you've been telling me about! Don't the girls at school wear clothes a little nicer than _school robes_?" Jane asked.

The girls at school.

_Who does she think she's trying to fool?_

_What a sad excuse for a dress!_

_Once again, she's trying too hard!_

"I guess." Hermione shrugged.

"Honey," Jane said softly, standing up and patting her daughter's shoulders. "I understand what you're going through." No, she actually didn't, but once again, Hermione kept her mouth shut. "You're going to find someone, one day, who will see your real beauty – inner and outer – and love you for who you are."

It was a broken record lying to her over and over again: you'll find the perfect guy, someone will love you for who you are, there will be a person who will actually see your real beauty (if they looked hard enough, of course). Hermione had already accepted the reality of not having a boyfriend for a very long time.

Hermione couldn't even look her mother in the eyes, so she remained still, looking at her own reflection and knowing that no guy could ever love her for who she was…_whoever_ she was.

. . . . .

The next few days were the slowest two days of Harry's life.

Time was slowly ticking on, seconds graciously taking their time and hours never ending. He was thoroughly convinced that all of the clocks in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place were stuck just to mess with him. Harry wasn't even sure why he wanted time to hurry up already, but he did. Sirius was the only good thing about this stupid grim, old place, while everyone else was tiptoeing around him, like _he_ was the dangerous one. Sirius escaped Order meetings as much as he could to spend time with Harry, and the two would talk about everything and nothing.

While he impatiently waited for time to painfully wear on, Harry didn't know what there was to look forward to. Sure, there was school, when was school ever something to look forward to? It was bound to suck, even in this world.

A small part of him believed that he was waiting to be healed. Couldn't time heal anything? When would life get easier? The whole forty eight hours still were filled with worrying about Voldemort and constantly staying alert for anyone and anything. He got two hours of sleep before waking up from nightmares again, and the night after that was the same. It was useless to even try to get some rest, but he fell asleep without meaning to both times.

Harry felt like his mind didn't even belong to his body while he sat in the guest bedroom most of the time. He wasn't aware of anything…he was just _there_, just Harry, sitting there and waiting to for anything. Maybe it was permanent damage done by what happened in the graveyard, nothing physical, something that nobody could actually see and cure. There was a constant headache, and the awareness of its pain was taking up a lot of his thought process. The aching had its own rhythm, _thump, thump, thump, _in his whole being, spreading through his veins like an epidemic, making him wish he stopped existing, if only to make the aching stop. He could barely hear what was going on around him…the shouts of Mrs. Weasley and the hushed voices of the Order and the conversation of the Weasley kids…it was all very far away…

Harry had briefly wondered if there was some sort of magic that could help him stay awake, but immediately pushed the thought away, and it was never to be considered again: how could he think of something so _dangerous_? So _stupid_?

He had never been the paranoid one, but he felt as though the person who had portkeyed into the graveyard was very different from the person who portkeyed out of it.

"Okay, we've got your books, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley announced the day before Harry and the Weasley kids were due to go to Hogwarts. There were dark circles under her eyes as well, and she seemed less alert than usual…it was as though Harry's restlessness was contagious. She was even trembling under the weight of just carrying one small book that was resting in her left hand, threatening to collapse beneath the book. "My son, Bill –"

There were _more of them_?

"– works at Gringotts, the wizard bank, so he got some money out of your vault there and bought you a school trunk, all of your books, your supplies –"

"Wait, I have a _vault_ at a _bank_?" Harry interrupted her, stunned. "Why couldn't I go and see it?"

"Well, sweetie," Mrs. Weasley said slowly, carefully placing his school supplies on the kitchen table, "We're afraid we can't just let you wander around Diagon Alley, unless we want to make a scene with a team of Aurors around you."

"Aurors?"

"Dark-wizard catchers," she explained hastily. "And people are starting to wonder things, so we don't want to make more speculation. Anyway, he got a receipt of all of the money in your vault you have, just so that you're aware of how much you have, is that okay, dear?"

Harry nodded, but he wasn't really sure what he was agreeing to. Did he really have money? It must've not been a lot, then. Maybe a few hundred pounds, if he was lucky.

"Here you go, sweetie," Mrs. Weasley said, handing him a parchment and returning to sorting out all of his school supplies in a dazed haste. "And, er, galleons are our form of currency."

Harry grabbed it and looked down at it, adjusting his glasses. His eyes widened at the numbers that were practically rolling off the paper. If galleons were any similar to pounds, he was _rich_! Harry was frozen in his spot, staring at the parchment stupidly and not believing that this all really belonged to him…

"How do I have all of this money?"

"Inheritance, of course, dear," Mrs. Weasley told him, briefly glancing up to face him then returning to organizing the school supplies. "Did you think that your parents left you with nothing?"

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but immediately closed it. His eyelids were drooping, slowly blurring his vision and making Mrs. Weasley not even look real anymore. He shook his head, which was really no use in the end, and continued to stare at the parchment as it slid in and out of focus. Nothing seemed like it belonged to reality anymore. Maybe, if all of this money really existed, then he could buy his own flat and be away from the Dursleys over the summer!

"Oh, dear, I nearly forgot," she said, chuckling although clearly nothing was funny. "We wrote to Ollivander, a wand maker, and he's sent over a few wands for you to try out. I'll put them in your school trunk. You can wait until school if that's better for you, once you learn a spell to use, and send back the ones that don't work for you."

"Wait, what?" Harry stared at her. He felt uncomfortable just thinking about holding a wand and performing magic. And what did she mean by _ones that don't work for you_? What would happen if a wand didn't work?

"It's nothing to worry about, of course," Mrs. Weasley said, setting up a few scales. She was still mechanically putting everything in its proper place and not looking at him, as though her mind was very far away. "Mr. Ollivander claims that 'the wand chooses the wizard'. You'd know if the right wand was in your hand. Nothing bad would happen if it just doesn't work for you…it just wouldn't feel right."

Harry found this all hard to believe. He imagined that _every _wand wouldn't feel right. How could it _feel right_ to perform magic?

"Oh boy, there's so much stuff! We got you extra books to study from, and I'm just trying to put these all…all back."

Mrs. Weasley kept sighing, folding what might've been robes or cloaks or something, and put them in their own separate pile. She was a robot, slowly moving in a steady rhythm and mechanically putting everything right where it belonged, unaware of everything around her. What really caught Harry of guard was the little sobs that broke out from her.

"I'm sorry that these supplies are so last-minute, Harry," she said quietly, addressing him but not really speaking to him directly. "It's just…they're just not – they're not sorted right, I need to put them back together…I need to put all of this back together…."

She began to cry at this point, glancing at the supplies and still determined to sort them all out. Her hands were shaking and she nearly dropped everything she was holding, but she still didn't give up.

"I need to put everything back together…."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading! :) If there are any major mistakes or things that seem really out of place, I'm sorry, guys. Life's been hectic and I was in a rush to organize/rewrite this chapter after deleting what it was going to be…aye aye aye. Also, if you check out my profile there are links to my new LJ and twitter. I'm trying to be all modern and hip and whatnot.


	6. That's Hermione Granger

**Author's Note:** Harry and Hermione are finally going to be in the same freaking place...eventually. But it's definitely happening in this chapter. Took long enough. This is the chapter you've all been waiting for ;) Oh my God, ew, I just used the wink smiley and now it's awkward.

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Seven: That's Hermione Granger_

Harry would've kept to himself if it weren't for the persistent call of "Harry!" from the kitchen. Sighing, he finally retreated from the guest bedroom and padded down the stairs cautiously before making his way to the kitchen, where he could hear loud conversation bursting from the room.

Had anyone other than Sirius or Mrs. Weasley called him downstairs, he wouldn't have listened. He didn't owe the Order anything. Sure, they believed him, but treating him like he was the dangerous one, just some tortured object, wasn't something that made them on his good list.

He walked through the open doorway to find everyone scrambling for their things, eating bites of their breakfast here and there, and shouting at others to get out of their way. Harry dodged the Weasleys and managed to retrieve his school trunk, which was waiting for him, perfectly in place – courtesy of Mrs. Weasley – and away from the chaos. It was odd to see Mrs. Weasley again after seeing her cry like she had the day before…she seemed to be falling apart even more as she scrambled around, looking for something.

"Oh, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said above the other voices in fast conversation, finally noticing his existence, "there you are! We're leaving in an hour, are you ready?"

Harry looked down: he had his clothes on his back and his school trunk. It was all he had. He nodded.

"Good, good," she said distractedly. The doorbell to the house rang, and at first Harry thought that it was Mrs. Weasley wailing, but it was a voice coming from the hallway. He shrunk away from the doorway cautiously as Mrs. Weasley ran out of the room and began to shout over a chorus of profanities that made Harry's vocabulary seem saintly. It sent a shiver down his spine.

"What the hell is that?" Harry asked. Was it a new houseguest? Were they welcome?

"Sirius's mum's portrait," the boy named Ron said, shaking his head. "Every time she wakes up, she starts yelling –"

"Portraits _talk_?"

"Oh, yeah," Ron told him matter-of-factly. "Get on my bloody nerves sometimes, though. Especially the ones of dead people. It's just a bit creepy, you know?"

"That's an understatement," Harry said, still very determined to keep a firm distance between himself and the hallway.

"Hey, want to be in the same compartment on the train?" Ron offered awkwardly above the shrieks of the portrait outside, his red ears screaming out _embarrassment_.

_The train_. Dumbledore had told him that all of the students go to Hogwarts by train, and Harry had been on plenty of trains in his lifetime with his gang. At least there wasn't some sort of insane, magical transportation system to get to the school, like a freaking magic carpet or something. Harry could cope with that, at least.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said half-heartedly with a shrug. He supposed that he'd be stuck in a compartment with someone either way. Why the hell not?

"Where have you been?" Mrs. Weasley's voice snapped over the screeching portrait. There were other voices trying to talk over her, but she cut them off. "Never mind, never mind. Just get inside and we'll choose the best route to King's Cross. We need to leave in a few minutes…. What do you mean, 'Moody couldn't make it?'….Okay, okay, very well….Yes, everyone's ready…. Yes, Harry's alright…. _Just get inside already_! Don't just linger out on the doorstep!"

The people Mrs. Weasley were yelling at listened and must've walked in, because the door closed a few moments afterwards. Harry stood there in anticipation. He looked over at Ron.

"That's the team of Aurors that are going to bring us to King's Cross," Ron told him.

Harry had been told the details of their voyage to King's Cross the day before by Sirius, so he just nodded.

Mrs. Weasley walked back into the room with a group of people following behind. They were all dressed in robes and when their eyes met Harry they immediately headed north, at his scar. He wished he could turn invisible.

. . . . .

"You have everything, right, sweetie?"

"Yes, mum," Hermione said quietly.

Jane and Carl were in the front of their new car – their dentist salaries could afford such novelties, although it didn't make much of a difference to Hermione either way – while Hermione sat in the back. She pressed her forehead against the cool car window. That, at least, kept her somewhat awake.

"We'll be there in just a moment…" Carl noted.

_Thanks, Dad,_ she thought to herself, but she didn't dare speak the phrase out loud.

The world whizzed by as they rode on, and Hermione's thoughts were going at that same speed…her thought process wasn't too complicated, for all it really consisted of was _school, school, school…._ The word kept spinning around in her head, teasing and taunting her. She could already hear the other students' laughter in her mind…she had that noise memorized by heart, unfortunately.

There was no way to prevent what was going to happen, no turning back. She had to face yet another year at school. Nobody was going to save her from it, not even her parents, who were now smiling at her through the front mirror.

Silent tears were slowly sliding down the side of her face, the product of just how upset she was about returning to the one place she hated the most. She wiped them away, but they kept coming back without her permission, cascading past the incredibly dark purple circles under her eyes and past her face, dripping off her jaw and staining her shirt. But she didn't even care anymore.

Jane turned to pull into the parking lot and said, "We're here": the two worst words ever spoken that sent a chill up Hermione's spine.

Her heart suddenly felt heavy, like it was sinking, along with any hope of staying with her parents rather than going to school. She was going to ask, in one last chance, to just skip this term, but her throat was dry and refused to utter any words.

The three Grangers got out of the car, Hermione being the last one. She slowly took her time while retrieving her school trunk from the trunk of the car. That bloody thing made the situation all too real. This was _really_ happening…she was really going back to Hogwarts…

"Come on, sweetie, Neville might be there already," Jane said quietly with a sad smile. She wasn't happy, of course, that her daughter would be gone until term ended and the holidays began. "You brought that dress, right?"

Hermione, still not able to speak, nodded. She couldn't imagine actually wearing that stupid dress, but she put it in her school trunk anyways. Jane sent another sad smile her way. She wrapped one lean arm around her daughter's shoulders and lead her to King's Cross, because Hermione honestly could not make the trip herself.

Carl took Hermione's school trunk from her shaking hand and carried it for her as the trio entered King's Cross.

Platform One…Two…Three…

Hermione could practically hear the other students' voices in her head already, muttering unspeakable things her way. She couldn't go back….

Six…Seven…Eight…

When she saw Platform Nine, she was ready to make a run for it.

"Here we are, honey," Carl said, putting her school trunk down to embrace his daughter.

Hermione hugged her father back, not wanting to let go. Not wanting to leave him, or her mother. Jane made that, "Awww!" sound of sympathy that only mothers could make, and Hermione wanted to cry. Her chin trembled as Jane embraced her as well. Hermione could spell her perfume, and that scent always brought her back to summer, the memories that she still had with her parents, away from school.

But all too soon, Jane was breaking apart from her with tears streaking down her face and disrupting her flawless makeup, but she seemed beyond to care about what she looked like. "You'll write to us, won't you?" she asked.

Of course she'd write to them. She wrote to her parents constantly while at school: it was an escape for her to read the words, _real words_, that her parents had written to her. And sometimes, she could smell the scent of her mother's perfume on the letters.

"I'll write to you," Hermione said with a forced smile. It was nearly impossible to pretend to smile, considering how she felt. "Of course I'll write to you."

"We love you," Jane said before giving her daughter one last hug. She wiped her eyes and stammered, "You…you have everything, right?"

Hermione was about to say 'Unfortunately', but rather than making the situation worse than it had to be, she simply replied with, "Yes."

Carl reached down and handed Hermione her school trunk as a group of people walked behind him and began to walk into the barrier themselves…Hogwarts students already. Hermione avoided looking at them…she didn't want to identify any familiar faces just yet.

"Well…" Hermione said quietly, looking down at her feet. "I guess this is it."

Jane covered half of her face and nodded, and Carl smiled sadly. _This is it._ Hermione turned – the group of people had disappeared past that brick wall already – and walked toward the barrier, alone. She turned around to glance at her parents once more but didn't bother to send them a fake smile. There was no use.

She turned back, inhaled deeply, and walked into the barrier that separated the world she belonged to from the world she was entering.

. . . . .

Harry was just getting used to daylight when they entered King's Cross. Of course.

After being cooped up in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, seeing the light of day nearly blinded him, but it was a relief. There was something about soaking up sunlight that kept his spirits up enough to not collapse at the thought of Sirius not being there.

Harry's departure from the only person he'd really trusted was enough to keep a cloud looming over his head as he walked with the rest of the group into the entrance of King's Cross. Harry had promised to write to Sirius the moment he got to Hogwarts. Sirius told Harry to use the codename "Snuffles" for him, and to use codenames for other things, as well. They had to be careful, and Harry didn't question him.

It was too dangerous, Mrs. Weasley said, for Sirius to be with them for the trip, even under a disguise. Harry had asked what disguise Sirius had, but everyone refused to answer him…because he was afraid of magic.

It seemed ridiculous, really, to attend a school of magic and be afraid of magic. None of it added up. Yet here he was, on his way to Platform 9 ¾. There was a Platform 9, he knew, and a Platform 10, but _Platform 9 ¾? _He didn't question it aloud; he learned to adapt to everything that was going on…to just accept this bullshit. He wasn't sure if he was ever going to really get used to it.

"Here we are!" Mrs. Weasley announced to their group, which was basically a guard of Aurors.

Harry stared at Platform 9, then at Platform 10. There was no Platform 9 ¾, as he had guessed.

They walked around a small, tight-knit family consisting of three people, that were all in Muggle attire – which was a relief to see – and talking amongst themselves. They all looked sad, especially the pretty girl that stood in front of who must've been her parents.

"Alright, Harry, it's just like I told you…you just have to walk _into _the wall. It seems silly, I know, but...well…let's have Ron demonstrate. Ron!"

"On it," Ron immediately said. He smiled at Harry, then ran headfirst towards the wall and…_disappeared_. Harry's eyes widened. _What the fuck?_

The other Weasley kids followed, much to Harry's bewilderment. The other Aurors went as well, and the only people left were Harry and Mrs. Weasley. Every single one of them left him alone with Mrs. Weasley…every single one of them gone.

"You first, dear," she insisted with a kind smile, urging him on.

_What?_ "Why?"

"I'll be right behind you, I promise," Mrs. Weasley said. Her smile was faltering. "Do you trust me?"

No. Sirius was the only person he trusted. Harry would have to write to him the moment he got to Hogwarts…

Harry shut his eyes and ran towards the wall, expecting it to close on him and reject him, but before he knew it, he felt another atmosphere around him…and he heard a _train_? He opened his eyes, and yes, there was really a train. The Hogwarts Express. It was beautiful, red and shiny, gleaming before the other people who were moving in throngs, rushing others onto the train. There were bustles of people moving around, departing from family or meeting up with old friends.

He was here. And alive.

Harry hadn't even realized it at first, but he was shaking. The feeling of walking through a wall was so surreal… Mrs. Weasley appeared next to him, causing him to jump.

"You didn't react as badly as I thought you would!" she said over the conversation of others around them.

Somehow, that didn't make him feel better.

"There's everyone else, let's get on the train, shall we?" Harry was rushed to their group, and it was already disassembling, but Mrs. Weasley quickly stopped them. "Oh no you don't! Fred, George, and Ginny, you're not leaving without saying goodbye to your _own mother_, are you?"

Ginny blushed red and ran to her mother, hugged her, said her goodbye, and parted. Just like that. Fred and George made their little comments and were hugged nearly to death before leaving as well.

"Ron, why don't you and Harry get a compartment before people…you know…?" She left her sentence hanging in the crowded air, and Harry raised an eyebrow at her but didn't say anything. Although quickly, he was starting to realize what she meant: some people were already pointing at him.

"Right," Ron said, still carrying his trunk. "Bye, Mum." He was pulled into a hug and Harry was just about to leave with him, before Mrs. Weasley grabbed his arm.

"You're not going to say goodbye?" she asked with a chuckle. Mrs. Weasley pulled Harry into a rib-crushing hug, and although it nearly suffocated him, it felt…motherly. It ended all too soon, and she backed up to kiss him on the cheek. "Alright, well, I'll write to Ron and see about you visiting us over the Christmas holidays," she said sheepishly, wiping her eyes.

Left with an odd feeling in the pit of stomach, Harry followed Ron to the Express.

"Thought she was going to kill you with that death-gripping hug," Ron commented. "But she's like that. She's grown quite fond of you, you know. Like you're another son, or something."

Harry didn't know what to say to this, so he remained quiet as they walked up the steps to the train. There were people looking out windows and pressing their faces against the glass to get a better look of him. He wanted to tell them to fuck off, if only they could hear him through the glass.

The train looked very much like an average Muggle train, which relaxed Harry immensely. He had been expecting doors to open on their own accord and different pieces of furniture to talk to him. There was even a woman pushing a cart, no magic required.

"Bloody hell, practically every compartment is taken," Ron commented as they looked through the glass doors of compartments, searching for an empty one. "We're _always_ late…."

People were staring at Harry as though he had three heads. Some people seemed torn between admiration and disgust, and others took strong sides.

"Hey, that's Harry Potter!"

"What? Where? How do you know?"

"I saw the scar! Blimey, he's here! Look, everyone!"

"I thought he ran away!"

Students shamelessly stared after him, and Harry glared at them. Even Ron had a few dirty looks up his sleeves.

There were two distinct actions of that the Hogwarts students had adopted: reuniting with friends, whom they hadn't seen during the length of the summer, or ogling at Harry's scar. Harry had originally thought the scar was cool before he found out what it had meant. Scars were always one of those things he was _sure _girls were attracted to, and while he never had a proper girlfriend – although he'd had his hookups occasionally – he'd spotted girls eyeing it enough to know that it was a _magnet_. But now, he wanted nothing more than to conceal it from everyone's eyes, even girls' eyes.

Others just gasped, "Harry Potter!", and he'd reply with, "Yes, that is my name,", much to their surprise.

Finally, they found an empty compartment, and they both happily walked in and closed the door behind them. It was quiet, for once. The entire train was lit up…no shadows to hide from.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Harry asked when they sat down and put their school trunks away. There were younger kids staring at them, wide-eyed, through the glass door, and Harry tried his best to ignore them.

"It's crazy, I know," Ron said.

"I mean, I was told I was famous, but _this_?"

Ron shrugged. "People just don't know personal boundaries, I guess."

"Yeah, no shit," Harry commented, glaring at the clear glass of the door. He wished it wasn't so goddamn transparent.

A few of Ron's mates walked in, trying to act casually surprised when spotting Harry, who was sitting across from him. There was Dean so-and-so and someone named Finnigan, or something like that.

Just as they left, a strict-looking woman practically ripped the door open, startling them both. The look on Ron's face betrayed that she wasn't too favored. She reminded Harry of his old teachers who knew his reputation only too well. It seemed that this one was aware of Harry's past, too…she was eyeing him as an eagle would watch over its prey.

"Mr. Potter?" she asked, before her mouth transformed into a thin line once again around a few wrinkles.

"Er, yeah?" Harry said awkwardly.

Her small eyes focused on him and he felt like he was being searched under a huge microscope. Within a moment, she focused specifically on his scar.

Great.

"Come with me," she ordered.

Her gaze meant that she was not to be challenged, and Harry did not feel very much like getting a detention already for disobeying anyone just yet. He stood up and followed her, turning to shrug at Ron before leaving the compartment altogether.

Only when they began to walk the length of the train did he recognize the woman. Harry had certainly seen her at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place: they'd never formally met, but he'd seen her walk in and out of the house briefly. His brain wracked to remember how the others had addressed her…Minerva? Was that it?

So she was on his side, even though she wasn't showing it. He didn't dare bring up the Order out in the open, but he did find the trip across the Express tolerable by that point.

"I'm Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts," the woman finally addressed herself, turning over her shoulder to glance at him before continuing on their trek to God-knew-where.

"The Sorting Hat will sort you into the House that you belong to," she told him without looking at him. His insides squirmed. Dumbledore had told him about this. "It's right in here…we have it on the train before arriving at the school for new students above first year."

They walked into a fancier-looking compartment than the students' compartments. It was empty, except for an old hat placed on a rackety stool. It was only too familiar to the battered hat that been disguised as a portkey. He was supposed to _wear _that thing? Harry didn't even want to touch it, let alone wear it. It was even shifting now…Dumbledore had said it spoke. But seeing it right in front of him didn't make it any better.

"Well, go on, then," McGonagall said, gesturing towards the hat.

"Er…I don't…"

She huffed and walked over to the hat to pick it up, and a part of Harry wanted to scream "No!" She walked back to him and said, "Potter, I understand that you're a little sensitive around magic, but this is a _school of magic_. You'll have to adapt. All you need is a little push."

"I can't," Harry told her truthfully, staring at the demonic hat.

"Potter," she said again, still holding the hat…it was too close, "I'm sorry, I truly am, but you have to do this. It'll only take a moment. I promise nothing bad will happen."

Harry sighed but didn't protest. He grabbed the doorknob behind him, just for good measure, as she placed the hat on his head.

It began to _talk_…

"Harry Potter," it began in a rough, squawky voice.

Harry reached up to take this…this _thing _off his head, but it wouldn't budge. He already wasn't feeling comfortable. _Get it off…get it off me…_

The hat continued to talk like nothing was wrong, but _everything_ was wrong….

"Potter! It's fine!" McGonagall screamed after him, but nothing could calm him down…he still tried to rip off the hat as it continued to say words that Harry wasn't even paying attention to…

"GRYFFINDOR!" it roared, and finally allowed Harry to take it off his head.

He tossed the hat across the room…it could've landed in a black hole for all he cared, he was just glad that it was gone. He clutched his chest – to see if his heart had exploded by now – and tried to steady his heavy breathing. There was cold sweat bleeding into the collar of his shirt.

McGonagall picked up the sorting Hat – the blasted thing – wordlessly, returned it to its stool, and studied Harry. "They weren't lying," she said quietly, although Harry was sure she wasn't addressing him.

She cleared her throat and said, "Well, Potter, you're in Gryffindor. Congratulations."

Deep down, that was the House he'd wanted to be in, as his father was in it, but after that encounter with the hat it hardly seemed worth it.

"Seeing as I am the Head of the House, I will… I will meet with you later at the school with more details on how your tutoring schedule will be worked out. You'll have a tour of the school as soon as I can get a prefect set up for the job. The priority here is for you to pass your O.W.L.s – important exams – coming at the end of the year. We'll be covering the basics for you, and of course you'll be expected to study. Welcome to Hogwarts.

"You may return to your compartment to share the good news of you being in Gryffindor with Mr. Weasley," she went on.

Harry nodded, still out of breath, and opened the door to leave. As he turned to depart, he could have sworn he saw McGonagall bury her face in her hands.

"I'm in Gryffindor," Harry announced when he returned to the compartment. When he sat down, all he wanted to do was _sleep_ without any nightmares. He felt exhausted from the Sorting. His eyelids began to droop again.

Ron smiled. "Awesome! You know, I'm one of the Gryffindor prefects. Yes, there are prefects in this world as well," he added in response to Harry's confused look. "Don't know why they picked me…I have a good idea who the girl prefect is, unfortunately…."

As if on cue, the compartment door opened. It was the girl from King's Cross. She still looked just as sad. She had long, wavy brown hair and big brown eyes that seemed too big for her little body. And those eyes went immediately to Ron…it was as though Harry wasn't even in the bloody room. She didn't actually enter the compartment, but rather lingered at the doorway, as though it were a boundary line separating them.

"Well, speak of the Devil," Ron said, clearly displeased just by her presence. "We were just talking about you." He pointed to Harry with his thumb. The girl's eyes swiveled to Harry only for a second before returning to Ron. She didn't even look at his scar; it was as though Ron hadn't spoken about Harry at all.

"I… I heard you were the other Gryffindor prefect?" she said, almost as a question, in a shaky voice.

"Yeah, and what's it to you?" Ron snapped. His tone seemed to startle the girl as well as Harry.

The girl was clutching on to the side of the doorway as though she'd collapse if she tried holding herself up.

"They want us to go to the prefects' compartment for a meeting," she said quietly.

There were dark, almost frighteningly so, circles beneath her eyes; purple clashing with brown. They were even worse than Harry's own dark circles. Weakness was radiating off of her. Harry wondered why she wouldn't just look Ron in the bloody eyes and speak up.

"Yeah, fine," Ron said gruffly, as though she'd been scolding him. "Whatever. I'll be there."

The girl's eyes startled away from his tone and they momentarily landed on Harry, only she didn't ogle at him, and a second later her eyes were back on Ron, wide and sad.

"Well, what are you standing there for?" Ron asked, and she nearly jumped. Weak. Fragile. "I said I'll be there!"

She looked down, turning red, and walked out, gently closing the door behind her.

Harry just sat there stupidly. It seemed like this school was more like a Muggle school than he had expected.

"_That's_ Hermione Granger," Ron told Harry, shaking his head. "Complete waste of space, if you ask me. Nobody likes her. Can't blame them. All she does is bloody read all day. Ridiculous, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said without thinking, not sure of what he had just seen. "Ridiculous."

* * *

**Author's Note: **They've met! Not in the most cheerful, heart-warming way, but they've met. Somewhat. I hope I haven't disappointed you guys! :) If there are any mistakes, I'm sorry, I'm gonna try to look into getting a beta. And I think I said that two chapters ago. Wow.


	7. You're a Great Distraction

**Author's Note: **Hey guys! I'm really sorry that this chapter is later than planned. There were complications with my grandma, who's been fighting cancer, but she is now officially cancer-free after undergoing surgery. It truly was a miracle :) Hopefully I will now have more time to write and update this. If I have not replied to a review of yours from the last chapter, I'm sorry but everything has been really super hectic and my inbox is backed up with lots of stuff, but I'll try and get back to you as soon as possible. I think I will try to make it up to you guys and write a one-shot in the near future (I already have an idea for one). Anyways, now that I'm back, let's get on with the story :)

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Seven: You're a Great Distraction_

By the time Ron returned from his prefects' meeting, Harry was ready to stab someone.

Did anyone care about privacy anymore, or was it just perfectly normal to gawk at Harry bloody Potter through a glass door like visitors at a zoo? Why was this meddlesome attitude suddenly acceptable? He very much wished that he could just jump off the moving train, if only to escape the peering gazes from the other students.

According to that goddamn newspaper article, Harry had run away from his home. The person he had been before the graveyard might have loosely fit the definition of what the adults called a "delinquent", but _running away_? That was a whole new kind of rebellion.

No matter how close everyone got to the glass door of the compartment, nobody actually dared to enter it, as though they were all afraid of making the first move.

Harry finally had enough. He stood up and opened the door, and a few students moved back. Good. They should've moved back a long time ago.

"Does anyone give a shit about privacy?" Harry spat at them all, his blood boiling. He grasped the edge of the compartment door, ready to slam it in all of their faces. "_Yes_, I'm Harry Potter, and_ no_, I didn't run away, so can you just leave me alone? Jesus Christ!"

He shut the door behind him and by the time he sat back down, most of the crowd had left, whispering amongst themselves. Thank _God_. The area around him with blissfully silent.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed a moment later, returning from the meeting.

"I know," Harry said, annoyed. He glanced back and glared at the few people who were still lingering, and soon they left as well. "They all finally got away."

"No, I wasn't talking about your stunt there, although _that _was impressive. I was talking about the prefects' meeting… prefects don't have to do patrols at night together." He let out a breath of relief as he sunk into a seat across from Harry.

"So, that's…good?"

"It's not just good, it's _great_," Ron said. "I don't know what I'd do if I was stuck with Granger. I mean, you saw her, right?"

Harry didn't see anything wrong with the way she looked – other than those disturbing circles under her eyes that were worse than his own – so he didn't say anything.

"Well, admittedly, she's better than last year," Ron recovered. "Must've starved herself or done something weird like that over the summer. You know how girls are, obsessing with their weight. And her hair is tame, not the bloody frizz she had before…."

. . . . .

Hermione let out a huge sigh of relief when she finally left the awful prefects' meeting. She had mainly sat in the corner, as far away from Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy as possible. She didn't speak up at all; she merely remained in that one corner, as a shadow only to receive the occasional glare and snicker from Malfoy.

How on earth Draco Malfoy ended up being a prefect was beyond her. The same went for Ron. Hermione was generally good with solving puzzles, but this had no clear, logical answer. She respected Professor Dumbledore, but _really_? How had this all happened? Becoming a prefect hardly seemed like an accomplishment compared to those two buffoons.

Hermione walked the length of the Hogwarts Express feeling uneasy without a shield of books in front of her. All of her textbooks were in her compartment with Neville. But it seemed like she didn't need that shield, as the attention of the student body was focused elsewhere: Harry Potter.

The majority of the students believed that he was a runaway, so it was obvious that they were surprised at his very presence among them, as an equal. A part of Hermione was thankful for the distraction. It allowed her to walk past several corridors without hearing too many distasteful insults heading her way.

She planned on dressing into her school robes the moment she got into the compartment, because she felt too exposed wearing Muggle clothes. They weren't tight-fitting, but they certainly weren't as conservative as her robes. There were still glances – although comments were minimal – at her smaller frame and she wanted to hide behind her school attire. The way Malfoy had looked at her in that prefects' meeting made her want to take a shower for hours. Hermione was in for comments on her new figure in the future, she just knew it. Unfortunately, Harry Potter's fame wouldn't be distracting _forever_.

When she got back to her compartment, she closed the glass door and sat down, letting out a breath of air she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Hey, Hermione," Neville said, smiling. He still had that plant from his uncle cradled in his arms. "How was the meeting?"

Hermione shrugged and half-smiled back. "It was alright. Patrols start tomorrow evening, and Ron and I don't need to do them together."

Neville let out a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin."

"I know."

"Hey, did you see Harry Potter? I heard he's in Ron's compartment."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, I saw him when I got Ron for the meeting."

Neville shifted in his seat and leaned towards her, clearly interested. "What's he like?"

Oh, not Neville _too_! she thought to herself. Hermione shrugged. "I didn't actually talk to him. But he seems… I don't know, he just seems off. Something's not right about him."

She distinctly remembered the harsh look in Harry's eyes when she had quickly glanced at him in his compartment with Ron. He certainly wasn't the smiling hero that people had imagined him to be.

Maybe he wasn't a hero at all.

He had been a bystander while Ron snapped at her. It was moments like that, when Hermione couldn't stand up for herself, that made her question why she was a Gryffindor in the first place. Where did the _courage _part come in to play?

Hermione hadn't expected much more from Harry than to just watch the events unfold, and while he didn't join into Ron's tantrums, it was only a matter of time before he would. She didn't owe him any respect at this point.

Neville stared at her. "Really?"

Hermione nodded.

"Odd. I thought… well, I don't know what I thought. But I definitely didn't imagine him to be like that," Neville said. "What house is he in?"

"No idea."

Neville looked out the window thoughtfully. "I hope he's in our house."

"Oh, _honestly_, Neville," Hermione snapped, exasperated. Neville was her best and only friend, but sometimes he was just so…thick. She'd never managed to have intelligent conversations, whether about academics or just life in general. Those kind of wonderful conversations were saved for her parents, who were probably almost back home by now.

"Gram's a fan," he said quietly, shrugging his shoulders.

She found that she had nothing else to say to him, and Neville seemed to think the same towards her, for the two then fell silent. They'd been friends for most of their Hogwarts years, but even now awkward silences fell between them.

Hermione retrieved her school trunk and put on her robes over her Muggle clothing, hiding her body from everyone else's eyes. Much better.

A silent hour later – the shortest hour of her life – the Hogwarts Express came to a halt after she'd spent what felt like seconds staring out the window. _Already?_ She heard the shuffle of the other students getting up, and she slowly followed by their example. Neville nearly dropped his new plant when he stood up.

"Well, here we are," he said, resigned.

Hermione and Neville walked out of the compartment and soon the Hogwarts Express together, Neville clutching his plant tightly so as to not nearly drop it again.

There was the usual calling of the first years from Hagrid, the gamekeeper. Nobody knew why Professor Dumbledore kept him there to work at Hogwarts. Timid, short children who were much smaller than Hermione remembered being at their age walked over to him between their interested glances at the castle.

"Ooh! I think I see him!" Neville gawked when they stepped off the train.

Hermione had been looking down at her feet; she glanced up at Neville, then to where his wide eyes were gazing. There was the back of a head with a mass of untidy hair just a few meters ahead of them. Other people were staring at the person, too. She sighed.

"Neville, can you please _not_?" Hermione pleaded under her breath. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to keep up with his suddenly fast pace.

"I just wanted to meet him…" he said. "Hey, do you think he'll like this?" Neville gestured to the plant set in his arms that were shaking under its weight by now.

"Neville, _please_," Hermione said, sighing.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, since that was the only real protection she could offer herself, and followed her friend to the carriages. They were pulling themselves, as always. She climbed in after Neville and sat down across from him. Hermione leaned against the dusty interior and her eyelids shut of their own accord. She needed some sleep, although she knew she wouldn't be in a calming slumber for a while. The rickety motion of the carriage momentarily shook her awake, but even that wouldn't do.

"You look tired," Neville noted.

Hermione had never told Neville about her self-induced sleeping problem. It was too cowardly to admit. And besides, he'd go off and tell one of the professors, who would tell her parents. Nobody except for herself needed grief over this.

"I'm fine," she replied, staring out the window and forcing her eyes to remain open as Neville searched her face for signs of sleepiness. "Honestly, Neville, I'm fine," she added, shooting him a look. He then turned away wordlessly.

Time seemed to have sped up, because before she knew it, the carriages stopped in front of Hogwarts.

She followed Neville, who had decided to not speak to her, and glanced up at the castle. The castle itself was truly beautiful. If only what happened within its walls wasn't so ugly. She did love magic, though. That was what made her keep walking to the grand doors amongst the other students. It kept her tied to this magical world. There was more to explore than the Muggle world could ever offer for her. Her curiosity and thirst to learn more about magic and its history had a strong hold on her and made her wake up for classes every morning. Hermione might have not belonged at Hogwarts in the social aspect, but she still thrived to pay attention to intricate details of every lesson she attended and soak in the knowledge that she could.

The grand doors opened and Hermione's heart drop and her stomach twisted itself out of existence. In less than an hour's time, there would be a meal waiting for her, but she found that she'd lost her appetite. She mutely followed Neville down the endless corridor. There was a bustle of students crowding around her and eventually they made it to the Great Hall.

The ceiling was beautifully enchanted, as always, to appear as the sky. That was one of the things she loved about the castle and its magic. There were first years already lined up to be Sorted, nervously looking around at the upperclassmen. Professor Dumbledore looked over the heads of the students entering the Great Hall. He didn't look as welcoming as he usually did.

The staff table had its usual occupants, but there was one exception: a new teacher. The first thing Hermione thought of was a toad. She had a small black bow on the top of her head and she wore a pink cardigan. The girls around Hermione immediately began to comment on the woman's attire and proclaim that they wouldn't be caught dead wearing that. She was smiling at the students, but there was something about her smile that seemed off…she didn't actually seem happy.

"Who's that?" Neville asked her, clearly noticing the woman's presence as well.

She shrugged. "Probably the new Defense teacher."

Hermione looked around at the other students. Their whispers turned from the topic of Harry Potter to the new teacher, but it was only temporary, and soon they returned to their assumptions of the "Boy Who Lived". After all, every year they had a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher…it wasn't anything surprising. If anything, it was disappointing, because Hermione rather liked Professor Moody. He was a bit off his rocker, but when had they ever had a normal Defense teacher?

Hermione walked with the other Gryffindors past the rest of the House tables. She and Neville took their usual seats at the end, away from everyone else. Some students walking past her could only spare a quick glare before staring at Harry Potter, who was at the other end of the table. There were the usual snickers, but they weren't as bad as Harry had taken most of their attention. He might've not seemed like the most respectable person, but was a good diversion.

It was ridiculous, really, that she had to rely on a diversion to keep her spirits up.

"Ooh! He's in Gryffindor!" Neville said to her, pointing at Harry. "I thought he'd be Sorted along with the first years…"

"The Sorting hat is brought on the Express to Sort new students who are not going to be first years," Hermione informed him, practically remembering word-for-word a passage from _Hogwarts, A History_.

"Oh," he said. "Well, he'll be in the same dormitory as me."

Hermione smacked Neville's arm. She was perhaps one of the only people in the room who was not completely fascinated by him.

It felt surreal to be back to the place she'd dreaded just because of the people here. But the snickers and insults and shoves were not ignorable. Hermione focused her gaze on the table in front of her, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

The Sorting began only too soon. Professor McGonagall called up the first years in alphabetical order. The hat shouted the names of the houses rhythmically and students clapped. Neville elbowed Hermione, and she snapped her head in his direction, mouthing: _What_?

He jerked his head down the length of the Gryffindor table. Harry Potter had buried his face in his hands and his fingers clutched what they could of his hair.

"He's been like that for the whole Sorting," Neville whispered as the Sorting hat shouted, "RAVENCLAW!" and students at that table clapped and cheered.

Hermione looked away from Harry. Sure, it was odd, but was it any of her business?

"Maybe you were right…maybe he _is _off…" Neville thought aloud. He shrugged.

When the Sorting was over, Hermione looked over to the staff table at Professor Dumbledore. His eyes scanned the sea of students before him before he stood. He still hadn't looked any happier than he had when she'd first entered the room.

What happened?

"Welcome," he began in his deep, calm voice, pausing as usual, "to Hogwarts for another year. I hope you're all well and had a great holiday."

His eyes went over to Harry, who was untangling his hands from his face and giving Professor Dumbledore his attention. Most of the students had stopped their usual chatter to look up at the Headmaster and listen.

He pursed his lips and continued.

"Before you fill your famished stomachs, I'd like to introduce you all to a new addition to the staff. _Very _new, in fact. She was appointed just yesterday. So it's especially important that we welcome her here and become her friend."

"Oh, we will," one of the Weasley twins remarked from the other side of the table. A few people laughed.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat and gestured to the woman at the staff table. "Dolores Umbridge will be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he announced to the Hall.

There were a few short beats of silence, and then everyone joined into a weak applause, the false attempts echoing against the room's walls almost laughable. Professor Umbridge waved to them – like they were all her best friends in the entire world – and smiled widely, making her look very toad-like.

Neville shivered. "She creeps me out."

. . . . .

Harry didn't realize how late it was until Ron began to snore. He'd just been lying there, on his new four-poster bed that was more comfortable than the guest bed at Grimmauld Place and certainly an improvement from the cupboard. But no matter how comfortable the mattress was, he couldn't will himself to go to sleep.

The day had been so full of distractions that he'd basically been too busy to spend too much time worrying about fighting off nightmares. But his worries hadn't been at bay for too long…before he knew it, here he was, in a boys' dormitory, still awake amongst the students who could have peaceful slumber.

Tomorrow was going to be the first real day of school: real classrooms, real teachers, real lessons. He was supposed to have another schedule dedicated to tutoring. How fun.

The school was massive, and much different from what he'd expected. He might have actually enjoyed the decorations and talking portraits – he managed to stay as far away as possible from portraits in the corridors and avoid their conversations – if he'd been comfortable with magic. But all of it just seemed out to get him, out on a quest to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

Harry was thankful for the fact that not much magic was performed that day…although he wasn't going to expect the same thing for tomorrow. There were classes to teach him about _magic_, no doubt that magic was going to be performed. The thought shook him. Ron had an idea of Harry's feelings around magic, but he really didn't understand the whole picture. Nobody could understand.

Was Ron even his friend at this point? Maybe they were just stuck together, the two of them who knew the truth of what really happened versus the rest of the disbelieving school body. Perhaps Harry couldn't escape it, if he wanted to.

But what was a friend? Harry had had his gang members, but...were they friends? Before the graveyard, before knowing about magic or Voldemort, he thought he had friends, but now, he knew that those people weren't friends. Sure, they'd talk about girls and sports and sex and games, and they'd make fun of other kids, but he couldn't completely trust them... Harry only found himself trusting Sirius. He supposed Sirius was his only friend, and the man must've been twenty years older than he. But it was something.

For a moment he thought of writing to Sirius and go to the Owlery – a place where he could mail out the letter to, according to Ron – but then he remembered…he didn't know where the Owlery was. And it was pretty wimpy to go and ask Ron where it was. Asking for directions was stupid. And, in fact, it was pretty wimpy to even write to Sirius if he'd been separated from him for just less than twenty-four hours.

He was weak enough.

Harry smacked himself on the side of his head to keep him awake. There was no way he was falling asleep, only to then wake up screaming like some sort of pansy on the first day of school. He'd man up and keep himself awake.

Was there really another option?

. . . . .

It had been exactly four hours since Neville had said "Goodnight" to her – a little bitterly because she'd been reprimanding him for ogling over Harry Potter – and she'd simply nodded back with a stiff smile. It wasn't the best start to the year when it came to her friendship with Neville, but she did have to admit that the attention was focused away from her. She supposed that one day, maybe at a class reunion – if wizards had things like that – she would thank Harry Potter for the distraction. But she didn't find herself wishing to speak to him any time soon.

Hermione sighed and crossed her legs on the couch she was sitting on. She'd been holding a book in her lap. The words lost their meaning about an hour ago, and now all the words jumbled up into incoherent phrases so that she'd long given up on trying to decipher their meaning.

Her tiredness caused her eyelids to droop and obscure her vision and she shook her head. Her parents were probably asleep by now. They always feel asleep early, leaving their daughter awake and alone.

Perhaps the girls in the dormitories were asleep as well. Or maybe they were still awake, giggling about whatever normal girls giggled about…probably Harry Potter. There were constant stares pointed at him by female students, and not just because he was famous. Stupid girls and their stupid giggling and Harry Potter's stupid phenotypes.

It was all so bloody _stupid_.

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair distractedly…she'd been using a serum her mother had given her and it had been working to tame her hair so it fell in loose curls, and while she thought that she'd stop using it at the start of school, she found that she liked her hair much more this way. Sure, she wasn't a supermodel now, and yes there was still some frizz that just couldn't ever be managed, but it was something she could deal with, even if she still wasn't pretty like the other girls at school.

She opened the book in her lap once again with one last hope that she'd be able to read it, but her tired eyes just wouldn't cooperate…the text could have been in another language and she wouldn't have known it. Her head sagged forward, her body intent on getting some sleep. The exhaustion she felt reached every cell in her body. The urge to sleep peacefully was overwhelming.

Hermione wondered if she was the only student at Hogwarts up this late…maybe there were people like her as well, forcing themselves to stay awake in order to fight their fears.

Or maybe she was alone.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you for reading if you have read this far. Again, I'm sorry for getting this out so late and I know that I must have lost some readers due to this chapter being so delayed. So if you've stayed along for the ride, I really do appreciate it. Some things happen in real life that I can't control and they come first. Hopefully I'll get back to a regular updating pace, since I know exactly what's happening in the next chapter. Thanks again :)


	8. Academic Records are Important

**Author's Note: **Thank you to everyone who sent well wishes my way for my grandmother, who's recovering from cancer. Never smoke, kids. Moving on: I've been determined to get this chapter out as soon as possible to make up for my month-long absence. So here it is. I feel like you guys will like this one. Or maybe I'm just giving myself false confidence.

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Eight: Academic Records Are Important_

It all started in Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

Since it was the first day of classes, it was the only class that was scheduled for that day. Professor Umbridge had been looking very toadlike, walking around the room and making sure that the classroom was quiet as everyone read the "Ministry-approved" textbook. The students seemed bummed out at the fact that there wasn't a practical lesson. There was no magic being performed in the class, which Harry didn't personally mind, but it seemed kind of silly to be learning just from reading it. The other students who weren't afraid of magic certainly weren't going to learn anything from this. It was almost laughable.

Ron, who was sitting next to him, elbowed him in the ribs. Harry gratefully tore his gaze from the stupid textbook and turned to face him, mouthing, _What?_

Ron jutted his head and Harry's eyes followed his direction until he saw a tiny single hand patiently in the air, its owner being Hermione Granger. Her big brown eyes were focused on Umbridge, who seemed to be intentionally avoiding her. Practically every other student in the room was looking at Hermione.

"She's always bothering teachers, you know, nagging them with questions," Ron whispered to Harry.

The room was awkwardly still until Umbridge said sweetly, "Yes, dear?"

Hermione looked around the room, aware for the first time of all the eyes on her. It looked almost as though she was going to say "Never mind", but she cleared her throat and said, "Er, Professor, I don't see any mention in this book of actually using any spells. So – so I was just wondering –"

Umbridge's smile slackened. "Well, have you read the entire textbook?"

Hermione's face turned red. "Er, yes, Professor." Someone in the back of the room laughed, but she ignored it.

"There's no need to use that tone with me," Umbridge said, the usual sweetness of her voice dripping away.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to, I just –" Hermione stammered, but she was cut off.

"Why would we need to actually _use_ the spells, anyway?" the professor asked. "It's not like anyone would hurt you, you're all…you're all children. Nobody would hurt you."

Harry couldn't help it: he laughed. This woman knew nothing.

Umbridge – as well as the whole class – turned to him. Hermione let out a huge breath, as though thankful for the attention being turned on him.

"Is there a problem here?"

"No, Professor," he said, shrugging. Ron smirked. "It's just that I can't imagine that nobody would want to hurt us."

Umbridge looked at him strangely. Maybe she knew exactly where he was going with this. "What are you talking about, Mr. Potter?"

Before Harry could say anything back to her, before he could tell her just what he was talking about, the bell rang for classes to be dismissed. Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He joined Ron and gratefully stood up without answering Umbridge, gathered his things, and turned to leave.

"I don't want any further interruptions in my class, please," Umbridge called sweetly to the backs of the leaving students. "We'll pick up on reading the next time I see you."

Harry and the other students left the classroom, chatting amongst each other about both Hermione's and Harry's interruptions of the class. Hermione was still at the door, probably waiting for that boy Harry had seen her with, and some of the kids were pointing at her and whispering.

"I can't believe you did that –" Ron began proudly, but he was cut off by another voice.

"So, Mr. Potter, what _are_ you talking about?" the voice, clearly male, imitated Umbridge's high-pitched voice.

Harry turned and saw a boy with light blonde hair and pale skin approach him. His thin face made an expression of clear intent, and his eyes were narrowing.

"Oh, fuck off," Ron said.

Clearly, this boy was not favorable. His school robes had the Slytherin crest emblazoned upon it. Ah, that was why.

"No, I want to know what Potter here was going on about," the boy went on. He was a couple of feet away from Harry now.

"Well, if you must know –" Harry began, bawling his fists and prepared to give a speech right then and there, but Ron interrupted.

"Malfoy, honestly, fuck off."

_Malfoy? _

Harry remembered that name… Malfoy was the name of one of the Death Eaters. Lucius, was it? Voldemort had called him over. The man had laughed at Harry's pain. He must've been this boy's father. A chill ran down Harry's spine.

Without thinking, he launched himself at this boy named Malfoy and threw his fists right at the bastard's face.

"Harry!" Ron screamed after him, but he didn't actually make any move to stop him.

There were a few screams following Ron's, some cheering for Malfoy, some cheering for Harry, but Harry didn't even care about that anymore. All he wanted to do was punch this kid into next week… His father was a follower of Voldemort, no doubt that the boy followed the same mindset. On and on his fist went, hitting any part of the boy that he could reach and inflicting as much pain as possible.

Malfoy tried to fight back with weak punches – even tried to reach for his wand – but his attempts were futile, for Harry's anger was overtaking the entire fight. He didn't feel like he could stop even if he wanted to. He could easily pound this kid's face for eternity and still not be satisfied.

"Potter!" one voice shouted above all the others, and the screams and cheers stopped. Clearly a teacher.

A force suddenly forced the two apart, and Harry was thrown in one direction and Malfoy in the opposite.

Professor McGonagall stood between the two panting students with her wand held high.

"Come with me, Potter," she said stiffly. As Harry slowly got to his feet she turned to Malfoy and said, "I'll be writing to Professor Snape."

The crowd of students thinned and Ron gave him a weak pat on the back before leaving with the other Gryffindors.

"Neville, stop staring," a small, somehow familiar voice scolded, but Harry didn't even bother to see who it was as he went on to follow the professor.

. . . . .

"Neville, stop staring," Hermione scolded as Harry walked past.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "But did you _see that_?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

Malfoy did deserve a punch in the face, but the way Harry just jumped at him like that, out of seemingly nowhere, proved her point even more: he was off. She didn't want Neville to be involved with kids like that. The boy was already impressionable; it wasn't going to do him any good if he hung out with Harry.

"Oh God, I left my wand in the classroom!" Neville squeaked, reaching around in his robes. "It must've fallen out of my pocket…"

Hermione sighed. When didn't he forget something? He was her friend, and yes, she was there for him, but the poor boy was just downright helpless when it came to trying to remember things.

"Go back and ask Umbridge to help you. I'll meet you in the Great Hall for dinner, alright?" she said. Once he nodded, his round face anxious, she took off towards the Hall, leaving in the same direction Professor McGonagall and Harry left moments before. She was starving.

The halls were awfully quiet except for the sound of footsteps past her, perhaps a length of a corridor behind. At first she wasn't bothered by it, because it was just simple chatter. But then she began to decipher what those words really meant when the voices grew louder.

"Hey, Granger!" one voice mocked.

Her heart sank and she picked up her pace. _Just look down_, she thought to herself, _look down and just get to the Great Hall_. Hermione clutched her books to her chest, even though it was useless, really, as a shield. It wasn't even comforting. Nothing was comforting at this point.

"Oi!" it continued. Another voice, at a higher pitch, shouted, "Why isn't she turning around? We just want to have a chat, don't we, girls?"

There was a loud and obnoxious murmur of agreement that sent a chill down Hermione's spine. No, these girls did not just want to have a chat. She knew the voices and the mocking too well. She lived with it seven days a week. How could she be so stupid to assume that Harry Potter's fame would be a distraction? If anything, it was only temporary and expired after twenty four hours. Nobody, no matter how famous they were, could shield her now. Hermione was out in the open, vulnerable, again.

"Hermione!" one shrieked.

"What an ugly name," someone added, and they all laughed.

Their footsteps were getting louder…were they _running_? Hermione didn't know what their plan of attack was, but she did not want to stay in the middle of a corridor and find out.

The laughter was being amplified every second and their sound broke a barrier at one point, and she was sure they nearly in the same corridor as her. She felt like prey, seeking a way to escape the predators, who were baring their teeth and ready to pounce. Hermione's heart raced at a million beats a second – almost to the point where it was louder than the laughter behind her – and her brain searched. She needed to find somewhere to hide. Anywhere away from here.

Hermione was smart, but in panicked situations even her intelligence hid from the laughing girls behind her.

There was a door, right down the hallway, just a few meters away. The whole corridor could've gone dark and a light could've shown upon that door, in all its glory. It looked vaguely familiar, like she'd visited the room behind it once, but that didn't matter anymore. The voices were growing louder and she was running out of time.

Hermione darted and clutched her books so that they wouldn't fall. Some of her hair whipped into her face and her heart was urging her on, pumping blood at a rate that was surely unhealthy at this point. Her hearing sharpened in her panic and she could hear the cackling girls again… she could escape this, she could get out of this. Her hand grabbed the doorknob and she swung the door open, blindly walked in, and closed it behind her.

Only when she turned around did she realize the room was already occupied.

Professor McGonagall and Harry Potter were sitting in McGonagall's office, staring at her. She couldn't really blame them.

So Hermione did the first thing that came to her mind: apologized. "Oh, I-I'm sorry, Professor," she said breathlessly. Her chest rose and fell with her ragged breaths from running down the corridor. Her shaky hand clutched the doorknob, just in case the professor was going to shoo her out and demand that she left at once.

While Professor McGonagall, pursed lips and all (and that was never a good sign), contemplated for a few seconds on how to approach her unexpected visitor, Harry stared at Hermione. He'd been sitting across from the professor and he twisted his body around to see her. He just sat there, wordlessly looking at her.

His eyes were so green... how had she not noticed that before?

"Miss Granger, may I ask that you knock first before entering my office?" Professor McGonagall uttered.

Hermione sighed and leaned against the back of the door that separated her from the laughing girls. "I'll keep that in mind, Professor."

"What is it that you needed to speak to me with that couldn't wait?"

Her mind stumbled for excuses... homework assignments? No, she didn't have Transfiguration class. Scheduling? No, she already worked that out. "Er – I – I didn't mean to walk in, Professor, I…I thought this was another room…"

Professor McGonagall's eyes searched Hermione's face, as though trying to see past her lies – and Hermione was almost certain that Professor McGonagall in particular had that sort of power – but she said nothing more on the topic. It was old news.

"Right, then, Miss Granger, you've reminded me that there _is_ one thing I'd like to talk to you about. Potter, will you step outside, please?"

Harry tore his eyes away from Hermione – she let out a breath she'd been holding – and turned to face the professor. "Sure," he said quietly, then he did just McGonagall had asked. Hermione was surprised…from what she'd seen just moments ago, with his rage being pounded into Draco Malfoy, she was shocked to see the boy obeying any sort of orders.

When the door closed behind him, the professor faced Hermione and gestured for her to sit. Hermione nervously took Harry's old seat. She didn't know what McGonagall had in store for her, but she was almost sure that it wasn't going to be anything positive. She kept holding her books in front of her chest for protection: her only shield.

"As you know, Miss Granger, Potter is new to the school. And so he needs a tour of the school, and perhaps just some mentoring with a student who has been here for a long time…"

Oh no. Hermione squeezed her pile of books tightly.

"And, while you're here, I think that you'd be suitable for the job," McGonagall informed her.

"Er, Professor, thank you for the offer, but –"

"Of course, it would look good on your academic record," the professor interrupted with a raised eyebrow, egging her on. "Volunteer work like that, especially when the name Potter is thrown around a bit, could be of good use to you."

Hermione didn't deny the offer this time. It was going to be good for her academic record, and that, above all, was what she was putting her blood, sweat, and tears into. She wanted to get out of Hogwarts by the end of her seventh year knowing that all of her suffering was worth it. She knew that Professor McGonagall might have been using some leverage, knowing how dedicated Hermione was, but honestly, what other motive was there for her to go through with this? Because Harry Potter was just such a charming, polite boy?

Professor McGonagall took Hermione's silence as a "yes". "While on your normal duty for patrols as a prefect, Potter will be tagging along with you. I want you to welcome him to the school and show him where everything is. I'll clear the arrangements up with Mr. Filch so that he does not punish Potter for being out past curfew. It seems that, outside of his normal classes and tutoring with professors, nighttime is the only time left for extra help for Potter."

Hermione nodded, soaking all of it in. So she'd spend her nighttime patrols with Harry. It wasn't as though she was going to be missing out on sleep…she would have been keeping herself awake either way, and now she had something to do.

Although, at the same time, Harry seemed a bit…dangerous. He was certainly off, and his sudden attack on Malfoy proved Hermione's theory. Somehow, something had happened in his life and made him the way he was. And it worried Hermione for her own safety's sake. She didn't want to get too involved with him. They'd just stay acquaintances, nothing more. It was all just for her academic record, which she valued above Harry.

"Professor, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Why, er, did Harry start punching Draco Malfoy like that? I mean, there has to be some sort of explanation behind it…."

"I think that that's something he should tell you in person, if he wishes. I don't think I'm fit to give you the details," Professor McGonagall said.

"Er, right. I'm sorry." Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably and took to staring at the floor.

"It's quite alright. Although," she added somberly, "there is something that I think you should be informed on about Potter."

Hermione paused and looked up at McGonagall. Her tone had become much lower and she wondered what she was going to tell Hermione.

Professor McGonagall took a breath, looked right at Hermione, and said, "Potter is a little nervous around magic. He was introduced to it in a way we didn't want him to be. I'd just like to warn you to not conjure any sudden magic around him. His reaction to it is not something I'd like you to be exposed to."

Hermione's mind raced for reasoning behind this, but she did not dare to ask why Harry was that way. She supposed it would be some hidden secret, kept from her anxious ears, just between Harry and the people he trusted. It seemed unlike him to trust anyone, but maybe he had no choice.

"Okay," Hermione stammered out.

"Now that that's all settled…" Professor McGonagall pulled out her wand and conjured a matching seat beside Hermione's. "Get Potter, will you?"

She nodded, stood up, and opened the door. Harry's arms were crossed and he was looking down the length of the corridor. He was unaware of Hermione's presence there. It seemed so odd to see him so calm after he'd brutally went after Draco Malfoy without any sort of clear explanation. The anger that had been building up inside of him scared her. She coughed quietly, not knowing how else to get his attention, and when he snapped out of his trance to look at her she took a step backwards. God, he was off. He faced her and waited expectantly.

"Well?" he asked.

She took another step backwards.

"Professor McGonagall wants to talk to both of us," Hermione said softly from the doorway, lamely gesturing behind her.

"What did she talk to you about?" he asked, not moving.

"Er, you'll find out."

Hermione didn't want to break the news to him that he was going to be stuck with her during her nighttime patrols. She didn't know just how violent he was.

But he surprised her again and shrugged at her response, and they wordlessly walked back into the office together.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm trying my best to get back onto a normal updating schedule. Thank you if you've been sticking around :)


	9. You're Not Alone

**Author's Note: **Hello my cupcakes :) Sorry that this is so late. It's really getting ridiculous. I had two term papers to write. I am almost certain that it drained every last bit of energy that I had. I feel like a zombie. And it's not a nice feeling. I hope that this chapter doesn't totally suck because of my zombie-like state. Honestly, I just write whatever I see in my mind, and pray to God that you guys enjoy it. This chapter is a little shorter than the others, but I felt like I had to get something out before _you _guys started acting like raging zombies. Thank you for your patience :)

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Nine: You're Not Alone_

A part of Hermione thought that Harry wasn't going to show up.

He did not seem like someone who would obey orders like being stuck with the ugliest, most unpopular girl at school every night. There was something off about him – although Hermione couldn't pinpoint it exactly – that made her scared. She thought about the wand that was tucked away in her robes, and even practiced ways to retrieve it as quickly as possible. She'd seen what he did to Malfoy didn't want to become his next victim.

Maybe this was part of his punishment for beating up Draco Malfoy like that. That's all she was to him: a form of punishment. And that was perfectly fine with her. The less involved she was with him, the better. It was for the best.

But there he was: Harry showed up. He was a ten minutes late, but Hermione was too scared to ridicule him for his tardiness.

He had changed out of his school robes and into Muggle clothing. Hermione had taken to wearing Muggle clothes – a long sleeve shirt and jeans – as well, which she was more comfortable with. She kept her attire loose-fitting because while this was just a tour of the school, Harry was still a teenage boy, and getting attention from boys in _that _unspoken way was not something that her virginal mind could handle.

She only dared to wear Muggle attire when the rest of the school was asleep, because her status as a Muggleborn did not help her relationship with the Slytherins. For one crazy moment she thought that Harry was going to say something as his eyes flicked down her body, but he immediately looked back up at her face and she shook the thought away.

"Should we go then?" he spoke up first, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Er, y-yeah," she said. She pushed a piece of hair behind her right ear and motioned for him to follow. "I'll start by showing you different routes to the Gryffindor Tower, I guess, since that's where you'll be spending a lot of time."

Harry just shrugged, even though she couldn't see because her eyes weren't looking in his direction. In fact, it looked like she was purposely avoiding his gaze. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she didn't have many friends, and probably didn't know how to act around him. It was a little irritating that she probably wouldn't be able to hold a regular conversation. Harry was already frustrated from the day's events and didn't need this. But he held it in and shut his fucking mouth and just went with it.

About a few minutes into walking in silence, Hermione finally spoke. "You'll probably go through this route the most because it stems right from the Great Hall, so you can go here after meals. It's by this portrait." She pointed over to a portrait of a man who was sitting in a chair, waving at the two. Neither of them waved back.

"Okay," he said.

"Although," she continued, turning to face her body towards him but not actually looking at him, "you'll probably have Ron with you after meals to lead you there anyway. This is just in case you're, er, without him, or something. And it's just good to, er, know these things."

Harry might've not been the smartest kid around, but even he noticed the way her tone changed when she mentioned Ron. He still hadn't forgotten her encounter with him on the train. Harry had just sat there awkwardly, letting the events unfold, but what else was he supposed to do?

"You hate Ron," he blurted out.

Hermione took a breath and actually looked at him this time, her big brown eyes staring straight at him. "Hate is a strong word."

"Okay, you just don't like him," he corrected. His sentence hung in the air and he wondered if he should've told her that he noticed how Ron treats her, but maybe that wasn't the appropriate thing to say. What the hell was proper etiquette? Was he even supposed to use etiquette with someone like her?

Hermione could only shrug at this. She clearly wasn't much of a talker. She folded her arms across her small chest and continued walking, facing the floor.

"Go up these stairs and it'll take you straight to Gryffindor Tower," she said a few minutes later, pointing at a staircase.

"But don't the staircases move?" he couldn't help but ask. He made a mental note to thank Ron profusely for guiding him through the school for the day. Otherwise, he would have been completely lost. Although, really, figuring out the layout of the castle was the least of his problems.

"Then you take whatever route you can to get to that corridor," she replied, keeping her gaze away from him. "It'll lead you to the Fat Lady."

Hermione's voice was so quiet that Harry could barely hear her. Hermione being afraid of him almost stopped being a possibility by now… there was no doubt that she kept her distance from him out of fear. He still couldn't forget the way she looked at him when he emerged from his fight with Malfoy: a mixture of fear and disgust. And she wasn't alone in fearing him. After he'd lunged himself at Malfoy with malicious intent, he realized that everyone would assume they'd be his next victim. If only they knew what was really behind it…

"And, I mean, people sometimes freeze the staircase temporarily, so long as Filch isn't around. It's not technically breaking the rules but he gets all sensitive around magic…" Harry's breath hitched at her words and she paused and looked up at him. "Er, s-sorry."

So she must've known. It was no wonder… McGonagall must have warned her about how Harry would react to seeing magic. He somehow felt violated, knowing that a completely stranger was aware of his sensitivity to magic while he was attending a school of magic. It seemed like the thing that he would tell her after warming up to her, although with the way things were going, they weren't going to be anything more than classmates.

"So McGonagall told you?" he said with a sigh.

Hermione shrugged. Her eyes flickered back to the floor. "Well, er, she just said to be careful. No details, don't worry. I d-don't know why – why you're like that." Then she added, in a quieter voice, "I don't want to know."

Harry almost wanted to tell her not to tell anyone, although he doubted that she had many people to tell anything to.

"You're right," he said, and she looked up at him, her large eyes filled with curiosity. "You don't want to know."

Her little body seemed to tremble at his words. Of course she was probably thinking of possibilities, but nothing could be as excruciating as the truth. If she was that afraid just thinking about it, her hair would turn gray if she knew the truth.

She inhaled deeply and gestured for them to keep moving. If anything, he had just made her more afraid of him. Although whether or not she was afraid of him did not really affect him. It made no difference… she was just a bloody mentor or whatever, for Christ's sake.

The two remained silent for the next twenty minutes or so, except for when Hermione pointed out different classrooms and certain routes to them. Harry had to admit that she knew what the hell she was doing.

"Er, Harry, can I – can I ask you a question?" Hermione asked out of the blue.

She looked up at him. Lights from overhead reflected in her brown eyes, making her looking even more doe-eyed than usual. He found himself saying, "Uh, yeah, sure."

"Sorry for asking, but it's… it's been bothering me, k-kind of." She paused. "Why – why did you go after Draco Malfoy like that? I mean, y-you don't have to answer, if you don't want to. That's okay, I mean, you don't have to answer that… I'm sorry for asking…."

Harry was caught off guard. He certainly hadn't expected her to just put that question out there. It had remained unspoken between them until now. He almost wanted to retaliate with asking her why she burst into McGonagall's office as though she was running from something, but he bit his tongue.

"I don't like him very much," was his simple answer.

"Is that – is that what you do to all people you don't like?" she asked softly.

Harry sighed. "No. What, do you think I'm some kind of raging maniac? That I just go after anyone I don't like?"

He hadn't meant for his words to sound so harsh, but once they escaped his lips there was no taking it back. Hermione took several steps away from him. It looked like she was about to cry.

"I don't think you're a raging maniac," she said shakily.

"Then what do you think I am?"

Hermione had backed up into the opposite wall at this point. Her thin frame leaned against it, taking in all the support it would provide her with. She was looking at everything else but him, and then it seemed like she had an answer prepared.

"It doesn't matter," she said, shrugging.

"What?"

"It doesn't matter to you what I think," she said more clearly and loudly.

Harry had nothing to say to this.

Ron had been right about her at least in one sense: Hermione was way too smart. Harry felt transparent near her, like she could understand his every secret and thought.

But in other ways, Ron was misguided. His comments on her appearance didn't make any sense to Harry. In fact, Harry had taken off his glasses during lunch and kept cleaning them because he thought he was seeing someone different than who Ron was seeing. In Ron's opinion, Hermione was the ugliest girl in the school. Harry hadn't seen all the girls in the school, but so far, Hermione was one of the prettiest. She probably didn't even know how pretty she was.

It was that kind of effortless beauty that didn't need any mascara or eyeliner or whatever all of that makeup crap was. And, okay, she kind of had a nice body. It kind of sucked, really. If she'd been more outgoing and more suggestive, like the other girls in their year, Harry might've even considered hooking up with her. But everything she was doing so far was a turn-off. A small part of Harry could almost understand what Ron meant: she made that pretty face unattractive with the way she was so awkwardly introverted.

After a while, beyond the explanations of different corridors and where classes were, Hermione looked down at her watch and gasped.

"Oh my, it's late," she said quietly. She looked over at Harry. "We should probably head back. You're probably tired."

It was true: he was tired. But falling asleep was certainly not one of his plans. "I'm fine," he found himself saying. "I don't really sleep that much."

"Do you have health issues that makes you that way?" was her immediate question.

It sounded almost too nurturing; so much that Harry wanted to pull away from her. "No, it's nothing like that. I… I kind of choose to stay awake."

Hermione nodded, but it actually seemed genuine. Like she knew what he meant beyond his words. This girl really was too smart. She looked up at him and searched his face with her gaze.

"I know what you mean," she finally said with a sigh. Those dark circles under her eyes seemed more ghastly paired with her sigh of exhaustion. "I never get any sleep, either."

"School work?" Harry asked. He could only assume that this girl's lack of sleep was due to her dedication to school. Harry never personally understood why people would get so stressed over getting school work done. It was a waste, really. And, honestly, he had more things to worry about: things that kept him wide awake at late hours of the night and far into the morning.

Hermione shrugged. "Just a mixture of things, I suppose," she told him. They continued to walk; to where, Harry wasn't sure, but he found that he didn't really care. It seemed like he was not the only one staying awake. "Sometimes it's just easier to stay awake, you know? Even though the side effects are awful, it's like I'm in control… It sounds silly, doesn't it? I think it made more sense just in my head…"

"No, no, I get it," Harry said truthfully. He understood completely. It was an interesting insight that she gave. Staying awake did give him more control. Maybe the two of them were more alike then he'd initially thought. Who would have known?

"Why do _you _stay awake?" she asked, turning to face him, her eyes meeting his. Hermione almost seemed nervous to ask this question. She was so goddamn timid, like a freaking deer, or whatever the hell was scared of every bloody thing.

"Well, it's like you said… to stay in control," he said. "It's easier this way, to stay awake."

Hermione looked at him like she was going to press him with another question, but she refrained from interrogating him. He knew that his response was vague, but in his defense, so was hers. It seemed like the other didn't want to admit their real reason as to why they stayed awake. Harry wasn't ready to tell this stranger – or acquaintance, if anything – about Voldemort… about the nightmares that he had to go through, the memories he'd relive, if he dared to fall asleep.

But even if this girl wasn't going to admit why she stayed awake, even if they never really became friends, _even_ if they ever stopped these tours around the school, one thing was certain: Harry was not alone.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading! :)


	10. She Has a Pretty Smile

**Author's Note: **Hello my loves. I am back with yet another update. Sorry that it kinda took forever. But I do have good news, even though it's probably only meaningful to me: So far I've been in average, on-grade English classes, but I got into AP English for next year, which will be my junior year of high school. I didn't even ask for a recommendation but my teacher recommended me because she liked a short story that I wrote for an assignment. Whooo :) Okay, so, on with the story. Again, sorry that this is out kinda late. Please don't kill me.

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Ten: She Has a Pretty Smile_

Ron had already told Harry all about Professor Snape, and how Harry shouldn't smirk or show any sign of happiness because Snape would wipe it right off his face, but seeing Draco Malfoy with a black eye was hard to not smirk at. That boy was related to someone who'd watched Harry be mercilessly tortured. In fact, Malfoy probably knew about the graveyard all along. Harry could find no sympathy for him whatsoever.

He'd received weird and frightened looks from classmates all around him, but he'd already been used to that from his old school. He beats someone up, everyone freaks out, nobody approaches him. Nothing new.

"Okay, I don't think I can keep a straight face when Malfoy's beaten-up face is in sight," Ron whispered to Harry.

Harry nodded and let out a small smile… after all, the dreaded professor wasn't there yet. May as well get the happiness out of system while he could.

The room was filled with funny-smelling fumes that made Harry instinctively assume they were all poisonous. Maybe they actually were. He tried to keep his distance from whatever the source might've been, but it seemed that the smells were everywhere, engulfing him. He coughed a few times, but he was the only one: everyone else was used to this.

Hermione looked over at him when he coughed… she had that same nurturing expression that made him want to cower away from her. What did she think, that he was going to die? It was just a little cough.

She quickly looked away when their eyes met. Harry had not told Ron about the nighttime tours, and he assumed that Hermione had not told Neville, because that dorky pet of hers wasn't acting any differently.

Good. It was better that way.

Their tour together had ended at some ungodly hour, but neither of them seemed bothered. It wasn't like they were getting any sleep anyway. The fact that someone else out there stayed up as well somehow comforted Harry.

"Stop the chit-chat," a voice said from God knew where. It was low and sent a chill down his spine.

A still silence hit the room and none of the students said a word. Harry looked around – the other students had taken to doing that as well – and saw someone wearing long, black robes emerge from the front of the room. It was the same man he'd seen at the staff table that Ron had identified as Snape. He really did need to wash his hair or something. Harry wanted to take a shower just by looking at him.

The man's gaze swept the room as his footsteps pounded against the cold floor. It was that kind of challenging stare that Harry's old headmaster had. And it was still just as freaky. When Snape's eyes met Harry's there was an obvious prejudice there, but Harry acted as though nothing had happened.

"I see you've all probably forgotten most of the material over the holiday. Which is a shame, because your O.W.L.s are at the end of the school year and some of you may not be seeing me next year… really, what a pity…."

Snape turned to face the class full on, partially concealed by the shadows the eerie room cast upon him. "I see we have a new student," he said loudly. Nearly everyone in the room looked over at Harry. But really, people staring at him was nothing new. "Potter, what _do _the O.W.L.s stand for?"

What the hell?

Harry saw Hermione's hand shoot up into the air, but he highly doubted that Snape was going to call on her. He tried to remember what Dumbledore had told him, but he was drawing a blank.

"No idea," Harry said with a shrug. So what? He didn't know an answer. Oh well. That was the story of his life in his Muggle school.

"Hmm," Snape murmured. "Are you sure you should even be in this course, if you don't even know the name of the most important test you'll ever take is?"

Clearly, Snape's question was rhetorical. It was followed by a tense silence. Harry was pissed, of course, but he didn't let it show. He kept his face relaxed and his mouth shut. In the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione's hand lower back to her side, defeated.

Snape then looked away from Harry and pierced his gaze into some other victims before beginning to talk about the harshness of the O.W.L.s – which, Snape gladly said stood for Ordinary Wizarding Level Examinations, but "Potter wouldn't have known that" – and his speech in its entirety was basically one huge threat.

Every time he asked a question, Hermione raised her hand, but she was ignored. Sometimes Snape would point out the answer to Harry because he "obviously doesn't know what's going on" and "should study more if he wants his teachers to take him seriously". Harry already planned what he was going to say in a letter to Sirius. Thinking about being able to tell someone about all of us somewhat calmed him down and so by the end of the period, he just wanted to punch Snape in the face rather than full-out kill him. It was some sort of improvement.

Ron tried to give out the answer when Harry was asked for it, but it seemed that even he knew just as little as Harry did on the subject of Potions. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Ron wasn't an A student by any means.

When the class was dismissed, it seemed that every student let out a long breath that they'd all been collectively holding during the longest hour of their lives. Harry knew that some teachers totally sucked, but this was _bad_. He wouldn't go running to Dumbledore like a wimp – Harry still had his dignity, and telling the headmaster would just give Snape satisfaction – but he was definitely going to send that letter to Sirius.

"He's _never _been that bad," Ron said as they left the Potions room. They could finally breathe clean air as opposed to the fumes surrounding them in that goddamned classroom. "Sorry, mate."

A couple of Ron's other friends, Dean and Seamus, walked up to Harry and told them that Snape was a dick as well, which kind of helped knowing that they were all in one mindset: all of them versus Snape. They also congratulated Harry for beating Malfoy up the day before.

Malfoy didn't dare to make a comment to Harry, and he and the two monkeys trailing him walked quickly past him, Malfoy barking orders at them.

"So, do you want to go play wizard chess?" Ron asked once Dean and Seamus left. "I can teach you. It's a really cool game, you know."

"Can't, sorry, I have a tutoring session with McGonagall," Harry said, shrugging. At least this session wasn't with Snape. He couldn't complain.

"Oh. Well, good luck. She can't be as bad as Snape." And with a pat on the back, Ron left.

Harry hesitated before going down the opposite corridor. He had asked Hermione how to get to McGonagall's room from the Potions room the night before, and he was glad he did, because this whole dungeons area was fucking confusing.

He turned down the correct corridors, because all of this seemed familiar, and eventually he made it to the classroom. He opened the wooden door in front of it and saw McGonagall standing near a mass of a random assortment of pillows. She was holding a box of something, and Harry didn't want to ask what was inside of it. Maybe he had come at a wrong time… she clearly hadn't cleaned up from whatever the hell she was doing beforehand.

"Hello, Potter," she said, as though the setup of the room wasn't odd or anything. "Glad to see you've made it here. I'm guessing you asked Miss Granger directions during your tour with her?"

"Er, yeah." He took a few careful steps forward.

"And how was the tour overall?"

"It was fine," Harry said with a shrug.

"Mhmm," was all McGonagall said further on the matter, and then she sighed. "Now, I have to say you're calmer than I thought you'd be, given the circumstances."

Both of them knew that "the circumstances" was Harry having to deal with Snape. Harry just nodded.

"Er, Professor, what is all of this stuff for?" he couldn't help but to ask.

She looked as though she had been waiting for him to ask this question. "Well, as you know, I'm the Transfiguration teacher here. And to succeed in my class, you need to use a wand. Molly Weasley has notified me on the situation you have with Ollivander, that he has sent several wands. What I'm going to have you do is try out different wands and we'll see which one works the best."

Harry had been frozen from the moment she said "you need to use a wand". He suddenly knew what all of these pillows were for: they weren't random; they were meant for target practice, to see what he could do. To see what _magic _could do. Not even a desk or a board was in the room, so nothing could really hurt him. Even the windows were boarded up. He felt like he was in one of those Muggle insane asylums, surrounded by tons of cushiony things with no dangerous object in sight. It was kind of embarrassing.

"I don't think I'm ready for that," Harry told her truthfully.

"Potter, tell me something…" Professor McGonagall began, taking a step towards him. The box in her hands must have had all of the wands Ollivander sent over. He didn't know how she got the wands out of his trunk, and he didn't dare ask. "Wouldn't you like to learn how to defend yourself by use of magic? I think that you, out of all the students here, understand just what magic can do."

"I – I guess I would want to defend myself."

She nodded. "We both know that You-Know-Who is out there. You are one of his main targets, and without a wand, you are completely vulnerable. How you escaped from him before, I'm not sure, but I think a lot of it had to do with luck and his underestimation of you. Next time, you may not be so lucky, Potter. He knows that you're in this school, learning about magic. Wouldn't it be a waste if the next time you and him met up, you knew just as little as you had the first time?"

McGonagall looked down at the box in her hands and held a firmer grasp on it. When she glanced back up at him, her eyes were sharper than ever.

"Prove to him that you can fight back, Potter. For us to say that he'll never come after you again is just a bandage over the wound… it's temporary comfort until he returns. Now I hate to be the one to bring you to this reality, but you need to realize that you have to at least try. See what you can do. You don't even have to perform a proper spell yet. Nobody is expecting you to be excellent at first, but if you can walk out of this classroom with a wand in your hand, then that in itself is an accomplishment."

He didn't know what to say. Harry couldn't argue, really, because she was saying all of the things that nobody else would say. And he admired that about her. He could _try_. McGonagall was right: Voldemort wasn't finished with Harry. He'd come back sooner or later, and Harry needed to be prepared.

Harry nodded and swallowed hard. He wanted to get this over and done with. His nerves were already getting to him. The fact that he was going to be holding a wand, something that could perform all sorts of magic, was keeping him on edge.

McGonagall reached into the box and pulled out a simple, thin wand. "Ollivander separated them by their power. He gave a few weaker wands just for you to get the feel of, but you shouldn't actually stick with any of them."

Once again, he nodded. McGonagall walked over to him and put the wand in his hand. He held it as lightly as he could… this was dangerous. In fact, he would have been more comfortable holding a gun than this thing. He kept his arm extended, separating himself from the wand as much as possible. His hand was already shaking.

"Calm down, Potter. You can't actually perform any dangerous spells if you don't know the incantations. And it won't turn on you. That's just impossible."

"Everything's possible, professor," Harry told her. When she looked over at him, he thought he was going to get yelled at, but instead her mouth just became less of a line and more of a smile.

Harry couldn't stop looking at that killer in his hand. It reminded him of Voldemort's wand, the most dangerous weapon ever known to man. There was a thumping headache being brought back to the front of his mind. It was always there, the headache, that dull humming of pain, but he'd normally push it to the back of his mind. There was no physical pain in the rest of his body. Maybe it was some sort of game his mind was playing. He didn't even feel safe in his own head, which might have been one of the worst feelings ever.

McGonagall cleared her throat and said, "Now, when you're ready, point the wand at any pillow."

"What's going to happen?"

"Well, normally, nothing happens, and we move on to the next wand. But usually there are sparks emitting from the tip of the wand, or the pillow shifts over."

Imagining himself moving something, or doing anything, really, with magic, was a little scary. He looked at a pillow across from him, aimed, and closed his eyes. The silent seconds wore on, in rhythm with his pounding headache, but nothing happened.

"I didn't expect anything more," the professor reassured him. He opened his eyes to see her shifting through the box and extracting a different wand: more bend and awkwardly shaped. "This one might have a reaction."

"And what do I do if it does?"

"Just keep a hold of it. You're in control, Potter, not the wand," McGonagall told him. "_You _have the magic, the wand just translates it. You were born with magic."

That was an odd way to think of it. He shrugged and grasped the other wand she had given him. He still felt just as nervous as last time, even though he kept trying to tell himself that _he _was in control. It seemed like the headache was taking up most of the space in his head, and common sense had no room to fit in.

Harry pointed at the same pillow, aimed, and closed his eyes once again. Nothing. He immediately handed the wand over to McGonagall, who wordlessly put it back and took another out.

There were no words of encouragement this time – if he could call her speeches of harsh reality "encouragement" – as he aimed again. He shut his eyes and there were a small feeling in his hand, and he lost it: he dropped the wand and staggered backwards, opening his eyes to look for any dangers. His breathing was heavy.

McGonagall picked up the wand he had dropped and put it back in the box. She was acting as though he hadn't just wimped out. "There were a few sparks. We're making progress."

"_Progress?_" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You certainly acted better than I thought you would have. Here, let's have a go at the medium-powered ones."

Harry wanted to protest, but before he knew it, another wand was in his hand and McGonagall was saying things like, "You're in control," and "Don't worry if you feel anything, that's supposed to happen". He aimed and this time, he kept his eyes open. There was a warmth in his hand and sparks – like miniature fireworks – came out of the wand tip. Harry grasped the wand with both hands and thought to himself, _Stop_. He wanted nothing more than to conquer this. And then it happened: it listened. It stopped. No more sparks. Harry dropped the wand then, grateful that he could now separate himself from it.

McGonagall looked at the wand and back at him. "What did you just do?"

"I, er, told it to stop, I guess. Well, I thought it. I just really wanted to stop the sparks…"

"Potter, that's impressive. Many first years have that sort of experience without any formal training in magic. Here, let's keep trying."

Harry wasn't sure that being level with a first year was much of an accomplishment, but he didn't say anything.

They tried several more wands, each emitting sparks. When Harry wanted them to stop, they did. Apparently this was completely normal, and hearing anything about the wizarding world being called "normal" was almost laughable. Harry was still dropping the wand once the sparks stopped, but McGonagall did not yell at him for it. In fact, the professor did not yell at all.

"I think we should try the wand Ollivander specifically recommended. He has his reasons for thinking it will work, and we should trust him."

"If it really works for me, will it have sparks?"

"Well, no, not necessarily," McGonagall told him. "Sometimes the pillow will move across the room, or it'll explode. But the feeling will be stronger than with the other wands. You'll feel a warmth greater than the others. Somehow, you just know when it's right."

He could not find anything about this "right". He took the wand she handed over to him. Why this man, Ollivander, thought this would work for him, he wasn't sure.

Harry pointed the wand at a pillow and suddenly knew what McGonagall meant: there was a warmth not only in his hand, but everywhere, as though someone had boosted up the temperature in the classroom. Somehow – although he never would have imagined himself feeling this – it felt natural, like the wand had been molded to fit his hand perfectly: a precise match. The pillow began to move slowly across the room and he dropped the wand, and the room returned to its normal temperature.

"That's the one," McGonagall said.

"But I dropped it," Harry replied.

"Dropping the wand is not a contributing factor, Potter. That's just your natural reaction to seeing yourself perform magic. I have to say that we got further than I thought we would have. Here, you can put the wand in your robes."

McGonagall handed him the wand, and holding it again made him wonder if it was going to do anything out of the ordinary, but it didn't. He slowly slid the wand into his pocket and when nothing weird happened, he looked back at the professor.

"Will my lessons with the other teachers be like this?" Harry asked her.

"Ones that require wands, yes. I'll notify them and tell them that you've acquired a wand that works for you. Classes that don't need wands will just incorporate a study session. They might have you practice with your wand if they'd like."

Harry nodded.

"I think our session is up, Potter," McGonagall said with finality. "I'm impressed. Don't forget that you have another tour with Miss Granger."

"I won't," Harry told her. He turned to walk out of the classroom, but just as he was about to open the door and turned back around and said, "Thanks."

. . . . .

Okay, so he was five minutes late, but it was better than last time. He thought that Hermione was going to point out his tardiness, but she didn't. Instead, she just said, "Hello."

And she smiled.

Wow, she had a pretty smile. A really, really pretty smile.

"Hey," Harry replied, a little out of breath from rushing to get there.

He'd been finishing up his letter to Sirius that talked all about the lesson with Snape. The parchment was rolled up in his right hand, and he knew there was only one way to get it to him: by owl. Ron had an owl, but it was kind of retarded and he didn't want the letter to fall into the wrong hands, even if he had carefully worded everything so that nobody would know the letter was to Sirius Black. But Harry remembered Sirius mentioning using the Owlery, where the school owls could be used. And hopefully _they _weren't as retarded as Ron's owl.

"Er, Hermione, could we go to the Owlery?" Harry asked, showing her the rolled up parchment.

She took one glance at it and said, "Oh, sure. I actually have a letter to send as well."

Harry assumed that her letter was to her parents. God, she was so lucky. "Mine's just, er, for a friend," he told her, shrugging.

Hermione didn't ask who exactly this "friend" was or what the letter was about. She just said, "Okay."

They walked in silence for a few moments, and Harry tried to memorize the route to the Owlery. Hermione folded her arms across her chest and said, "Snape is really nasty, isn't he?" There was a poison in her voice that Harry had never heard before.

This wasn't Harry's favorite topic of conversation, but at least something could fill in the silence now. "He's a real prick. Ron told me that he was bad, but I didn't know he was _that_ bad. And he kept asking me all those questions that I didn't know the answers to."

Hermione didn't reply immediately; she looked deep in thought, her eyebrows knitting together in concentration.

And so Harry couldn't help but ask, "What is it?"

She snapped out of her trance and looked up at him, then glanced away. Her cheeks turned pink and she shook her head. "Nothing. It was stupid, really…"

"What?"

Hermione sighed. "Well, I was just thinking that maybe I could help you and, like, teach you about what we're learning in Potions so you'll know the answers to his questions."

She didn't look at him – maybe she was afraid of his reaction – and instead took to staring at the floor as they kept walking.

Harry thought it was a brilliant idea. Anything to show Snape up was perfectly fine by him. It was odd, though, to have this stranger give out this offer to him. Like it was too good to be true, and she was going to say, "Just kidding!" and laugh at him for believing her. But there was no taking it back… Hermione was serious. It was probably because she hated the professor as well. With the way he'd ignored all of her silent pleads to answer his questions, she clearly was not favored by Snape.

"That sounds great," Harry said.

Hermione looked up at him and smiled again.

Wow. That was never going to get old.

"I don't have my textbook now, but I can bring it in tomorrow, if you want to start then. And obviously we don't have to spend the _whole _time studying. But just a brief overview on some things in order to get you started," Hermione said breathlessly.

"Sounds good," Harry said. He wished he had a quill and ink to add this new plan in his letter to Sirius.

They met a door out of the castle and they opened it and walked outside. The cold bit at their exposed skin, since the hour was so late and the sun was far beyond them. There was a pathway over to the Owlery, and Harry briefly wondered if they were even allowed to go out here so late. But someone like Hermione wouldn't risk breaking the rules for someone like Harry.

"Oh, God, you can't even see the owls individually," Hermione complained when they walked into a darkened room. There were square spaces in the walls, where the owls could escape, so a little bit of moonlight was pouring in… but it wasn't nearly enough. "Can I use a charm so we can see? It's like a flashlight."

"Er, sure," Harry said. He almost wanted to tell her about his accomplishment of acquiring his own wand, but he decided that Hermione probably didn't care, so he just kept his mouth shut.

"_Lumos_," Hermione muttered – it sounded like Latin, or something – and suddenly light was emitting from the tip of Hermione's wand.

Harry staggered backwards a little from her, but she imitated McGonagall and acted as though that hadn't happened.

Now they could see all of the owls. Harry was going to ask her which were the better ones, or if there was even a difference, but before he knew it, Hermione and her own little source of light ventured off and found an owl.

"Over here," Hermione beckoned, and Harry walked over to her. "It's a darker owl, so it can travel overnight without really being seen."

It was as though she knew that this letter was better off not in anyone else's hands. It was kind of freaky how she knew these things. Like fucking intuition or something.

"Here, I'll tie it," she offered when Harry looked dumbstruck. She took some nearby string that was by another owl and tied the parchment to the owl's ankle. "Just tell the owl who the letter needs to go to. I'll be right outside."

Hermione left her lit up wand beside Harry, by a nearby countertop, and walked out of the room. Okay, it was kind of freaking him out, how Hermione knew that this was very private and left him to tell the owl the recipient.

Harry leaned towards the owl and whispered, "This letter needs to go to Sirius Black. Can you do that for me?"

The owl blinked at him, and maybe that was its form of saying _Yes_, because then it took off from the Owlery. Hermione walked back inside – she must have seen the owl fly away – and took her wand back. Her big brown eyes reflected the light of the wand as she looked up at him and said, "Now, my letter."

She expertly picked out an owl and tied up the parchment to its ankle. Hermione gave it a treat from a little jar nearby and pet it softly. Maybe that was the proper way to send off a letter, by being nice to the owl. Or maybe Hermione was just one of those animal-loving people.

"Send this to mum and dad, okay?" she said to it sweetly. The owl blinked and hooted – Hermione said, "Thank you" – and it took off in the same direction as Harry's owl had. She watched it until it was completely out of sight, beyond the mountains and line of trees surrounding Hogwarts.

"My parents have never really gotten used to this whole communication-by-owl thing," Hermione said, turning to face him and laughing softly. She had a nice laugh, too. "I was raised by Muggles," she explained.

"Me, too," Harry told her. He could have already guessed from her attire that she was not from a household of witches and wizards. "Although I won't have any issues with communicating with them."

"You don't get along with them?" Hermione asked innocently. She gestured for him to follow her, and they both walked out of the Owlery. She whispered, "_Knox_," and the light from her wand went out. He only jumped slightly at this. Again, Hermione acted perfectly normal.

"That's an understatement," Harry said, laughing.

But Hermione didn't laugh. Instead, she looked up at him with a concerned look on her face.

"We just have some arguments, that's all," he said, backpedaling. He knew that Hermione could catch onto things quickly. And he did not want her to know just what happened in his home life. He already had the bruises and scars to prove his life of abuse. It was a secret of his that he had not even revealed to Sirius. Hermione didn't need to know about his shitty situation back home.

"Oh," she said quietly. Then she cleared her throat. "Well, where to? We have the whole night ahead of us."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Okay, guys, while you're here, I have a question… how did you find me? Or any of my stories, really? I was wondering the other day how you guys got here, whether it was a story on someone's favorites list or you were just searching for random stories… just let me know through a message or in your review. I was just curious, haha :) Oh, and thanks for reading, as always!


	11. Cho Chang Hates Hermione

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! :) Thank you to those of you who responded when I asked how you found me… it was interesting to see how people stumbled onto this story. And while you're here, please allow me to apologize for the pacing being so slow… it will start to pick up, I promise. I just want to get the basis of things down first before things start moving quicker. I have gotten reviews and messages noting that things seem repetitive at this point, but something a little different happens to Hermione in the beginning, just so that we get the feel of just what she's been dealing with here. Thank you for bearing with me! Please enjoy :)

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Eleven: Cho Chang Hates Hermione_

Hermione woke up with a smile on her face.

Severus Snape was just looking for trouble, and she was only too glad to provide it. Once again, Harry Potter proved himself useful without even realizing it. He could not possibly understand Hermione's loathing for Snape. But there he was, shiny and new and a perfect opportunity. A few nights ago, Hermione had offered to help Harry learn as much as he could about Potions in order to stun Snape… and they were making progress as the days wore on.

Once Hermione taught him enough of what Snape was bound to ask him, the professor would be in such a state of shock that maybe that smile Hermione woke up with would be permanent.

But that smile could only last for so long.

Hermione was walking back to the common room after dinner – a couple of hours was waiting to be wasted before she met up with Harry for another night together – when she heard it.

"Hermiiiiione!" a screeching voice called out.

She picked up her walking pace, desperate to make it to the common room as quickly as she could.

"We see you! You're right in front of us."

Hermione clutched her books to her chest.

"Oh, come on now, don't be so _rude_!"

Her heard raced. Dread surged through her. She went numb. No…

"Hermione!"

Hermione's books fell to the floor – caused by a spell from one of the cackling girls behind her – and she fought back tears. _Don't cry, Hermione_. Her entire being was shaking from fear. Hermione could feel the dread weighing her down, closing her off, humiliating her. She knew this feeling all too well. She felt small and insignificant, ugly and dumb, ridiculous and embarrassed. She was defenseless. The sense of doom spread throughout her, engulfing her and shrinking her.

_No, no, no._

Hermione didn't even have time to pick up her books, keep walking, and act like nothing happened. But by then, she realized that she could not just walk away. A confrontation was needed, and maybe she would need her wand to defend her in this case. The severity of the situation was crashing down on her.

There wasn't even a spare moment for her to withdraw her wand in a last minute attempt to defend herself.

A bucket hovered above her – full of water – and before she knew it, she was drenched. The coldness of the liquid chilled her to her core, but that was nothing compared to the effect that the girls' merciless laughter had on her. There was a screaming chill running down her spine. Water was in her eyes and she blinked quickly to get her vision back… only to see the girls – sure enough, it was Cho Chang and her friends – surrounding her, bending over from laughter and pointing.

A few tears poured out of her eyes, and she allowed them to fall, because they'd blend in with the rest of the water over her body. Her clothes were hugging every detail of her small frame that she was so desperate to hide from everyone. There was water in her shoes that weighed down her feet. Her hair was soaked down to every strand, making her look like a wet dog, surely. She was shaking harder than ever, God, the water was so _cold_. Her teeth chattered loudly against the noise of the cackling girls. Hermione instinctively rubbed her arms in order to provide herself with warmth, but it was no use. This chill was not something that any sort of heat could cure. It was an internal chill that wrapped its cruel fingers around her heart and squeezed hard.

_Please make it stop…_

"Look at her!" the girls called after her as Hermione stood there, defenseless and weak and ugly.

Then they slowly faded away, walked beyond other corridors, probably looking for more victims. They left her alone. All alone. Soon enough, their laughter died out – it was far beyond her shrinking self – and there was silence enclosing Hermione. It was that still silence that was sure to have more threats waiting in the wings… Hermione was expecting them to return, or for even worse people to show up and taunt her some more. It was unsettling.

Hermione wanted nothing more than to run away and never spend another day at this cursed school. She needed to hide, needed to stay shut away forever and not see a single soul for years. How had she even smiled that day? How had Hermione ever been _happy_? It was a foreign emotion to her. A complete stranger, something she'd never really known.

Her heart sunk. Something got caught in her throat as she suppressed sobs. It was moments like these that made her feel ugly, useless, a waste of space. She reached into her robes and cast a drying spell on herself and her books, and it was almost like she was good as new.

Almost.

That chill was still there, terrorizing her with the memory of what had just happened.

Hermione bent down and picked up her books. Tears were still falling, this time not concealed by the water of a bucket from hell. And she couldn't help it – she let out small sobs. Just little by little, sobs materialized out from behind her chattering teeth. Hermione couldn't even imagine how horrible she looked at that moment… but then again, she always looked horrible.

She walked back to the common room, upset and torn and ugly.

Her books were in front of her as a useless shield that could not protect her. Nothing could protect her. Nobody was going to save her from this misery. This wasn't one of those novels that her mother read in her spare time… no savior was going to come out of nowhere and save her from her troubles and call her beautiful and whisk her away to a utopian place with absolute perfection and no hate. This was the harsh reality of life, and it did not save anyone from its grasp.

Hermione sat in a corner of the common room that was covered by enough shadows that nobody could see her. She desperately wished she had an Invisibility Cloak, or something of the sort, to keep her concealed from the world forever. There were other students there after a while, and their chatter was laced with words like "Hermione Granger" and "bucket" and "Cho Chang". Of course, it was the most hilarious thing that had happened that day.

Just too funny.

Word was spreading around fast, and the hideous center of all of this attention was hiding in the shadows. She was already late to her tour with Harry, but he was probably late also. Who even cared about the stupid tours? Who even cared about _anything_?

At one point, everyone had left to return to the dormitories due to the late hour and a window of opportunity was shouting at Hermione. Hermione stood up, angry and depressed… and ugly. She wiped the tears from her face and made an attempt to compose herself before exiting through the portrait hole.

She was alone because she was falling apart, and she was falling apart because she was alone.

The corridors were filled to the brim with a chilling silence. She knew that she looked ugly already, but she probably looked even worse than usual due to what had happened. She did not want to even imagine what her appearance must've been. Hermione felt mortified in her own skin.

But within a few minutes, she approached their usual meeting place only to find that Harry was already there. The normalcy of it all made her want to cry. His hands were in his pockets and he gave her a small smile… Hermione had never seen him _really _smile before. He seemed incapable of feelings like that.

"Hi," he said.

"Hello," Hermione choked out. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the floor. She needed to look at anything but Harry.

Maybe Harry already knew what happened. Well, of _course _he knew. He was _Harry Potter_, for Merlin's sake, and he was going to be fed gossip the most out of anyone in this bloody school.

"Oh, no, I forgot the Potions textbook," Hermione said, smacking her forehead. She'd been so caught up in the day's events that she had forgotten to go back to her dormitory to get her book. But even if she did remember, she might have been too afraid to return there. Many of the girls in Gryffindor sided with Cho Chang.

"That's fine." Harry shrugged. Hermione had thought he was going to get angry, but he was completely calm about it all. "Maybe it's better off to take a break, you know, give my brain a rest from all of that Potions bollocks."

He looked at her like he was expecting her to chuckle or something, but she didn't, and so he sighed and awkwardly continued with, "Should we start walking, then?"

"Er, yeah, I suppose," Hermione said in a near whisper.

As they started to walk, she rubbed her arms for warmth, but it was no use. Harry turned to her like he was going to say something, but he did not ask her if she was okay, or wonder what was wrong – why would he? Why would anyone care?

Instead, he just said, "I've been having some extra help lessons," to break the tense silence.

"With Professor McGonagall?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Er, I have a working wand now."

Hermione looked over at him, surprised. Her eyes widened. "Oh, wow. That's… that's an improvement, I guess. Congratulations."

Harry smiled. "Thanks. I mean, I haven't, like, performed any spells, really…"

Hermione almost offered to help him with getting started with performing magic, but that might have put her in danger. She didn't know his reaction to seeing magic, and as was recommended by McGonagall, she did not want to see it. And besides, she was useless, anyways. Her attempts were very likely to fail.

"I'm sure you'll be able to some day."

"Hey, you haven't told anyone about me being, er… weird… around magic, have you?"

Hermione could almost laugh at this. "Who would I tell, Harry?"

His eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. The fact that he had to think hard about who she'd tell anything to made her shrink even more, feeling dumber and uglier by the second. "Your friend, Nevio?"

"Neville," Hermione corrected.

"Right. Neville. But you didn't tell him, right?"

"Of course not," she said sharply, practically snapping at him. She was almost offended that he'd think she'd go off and tell someone about something like that. Hermione returned to looking back at the floor, cowering.

"Good."

There was another silence between them, and Hermione showed him where the Astronomy Tower was. That was one of the sections that they had not covered yet on their towers. The chilliness bit at them when they went outside, but the sight was all worth it. The stars were plentiful that night, sparkling against the blackened sky. A few owls that she could barely make out were soaring through the air, most likely carrying mail to recipients. Or maybe some were just hunting.

"It's beautiful out," Hermione couldn't help but say when they reached the balcony. Then she kind of felt stupid because, well, it was obvious just how beautiful it was. Harry did not need to be told that.

Seeing the perfection of the landscape made her want to cry. Someone like her, someone so ugly, did not even deserve to look at such beauty. It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair.

"It is," he agreed.

Hermione saw Harry looking at her through the corner of her eye and she turned to face him. It was uncomfortable, being looked at like that. "What?"

He shook his head and shrugged. "Nothing."

"Oh."

"Well, I didn't mean, like… it's just that… er, your hair looks nice like that," Harry muttered.

Hermione looked down at her hair – it was getting so annoying and long – and it was just like it always was: down, and in a mess.

"Er, thanks," she said quietly. She was sure that he meant it as a recovery from looking at her… of course, he didn't actually _mean _it. Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew what she looked like, especially what her hair looked like, and it never looked "nice like that". Maybe he was even being sarcastic.

There was a pause and then Harry said, "You know, I never really did this kind of stuff when I lived with the Dursleys… my aunt and uncle, I mean. I guess I just didn't appreciate it."

Hermione leaned onto the balcony and stared up at the moon. It was nearly a full moon, so its luminosity was shining down on them, blessing them. "I've spent a lot of time looking outside at night," she admitted. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. "I guess I just had so much time, you know. It gets lonely, but the moon, and the stars… they're still there every night. It's like something I can rely on, no matter what."

Harry looked at her the same way he had before. "Wow."

Hermione kind of felt stupid for saying that in the first place. "Hmm?"

"No, it's just… it's interesting to see your way of thinking, that's all."

Hermione hesitated before asked, "Is – is that a bad thing?"

_Probably._

"No. I've just never really met anyone like you, I guess, is what I'm saying."

Hermione supposed she should have taken that as a compliment. Most girls would swoon over hearing Harry Potter saying something like that… but for some reason, her brain could not fathom compliments. She couldn't help but think that he was being sarcastic, or secretly mean, or something along those cruel lines.

"Okay," she said softly.

A few minutes passed and they just stood there in silence, looking out at the beautiful view from the tower.

If Harry knew anything about the incident with Cho Chang, he did not show it. Surely, if he knew, he'd tell her, right? Maybe he wouldn't have even shown up if he knew just how badly Hermione was victimized here… He might've canceled these tours altogether, because really, who wanted to spend time with Hermione Granger? He'd probably cancel them tomorrow, because he'd certainly find out by then, if he didn't already know.

But how could he _not _know? It seemed that everyone in the Gryffindor House, at least, knew what had happened, because the chatter had been never-ending. Surely he knew… But why wasn't he acting like it? What was wrong with him?

Harry turned and his green eyes fell on her. God, his eyes were _really _green. It was unlike any other eye color she'd seen before. "Let's head back inside."

"Why?"

But Harry didn't say anything at first; he started walking back, and Hermione was following him for some reason. And then he turned and shrugged.

"You looked cold."

. . .

Harry knew exactly what had happened between Hermione and Cho Chang.

"Why did you want to meet _here_?" Harry had asked him when he caught up with Ron in the library a couple of hours before.

"Mate, I just had to get confirmation on what just happened…"

"What do mean?"

And then Ron proceeded to tell Harry the story in which a girl named Cho Chang dumped a bucket of water onto Hermione Granger.

"She's really hot," Ron had said about Cho when Harry asked who the hell Cho freaking Chang was. "Like, _smoking_ hot. And get this – she's single! She broke up with Cedric Diggory over the summer. I'm thinking about going in for the kill…"

And then Ron rambled some more, and all Harry could think about was Hermione and the way she smiled and the way that girl Cho Chang had ripped that smile right form her face. The worst part was that Harry had been the one pouring buckets of water onto people back in his Muggle school. He'd been the one antagonizing the weak.

So now, as he stood next to Hermione – who was still shivering – he knew that the least he could do was to not bring up the incident, to act like it never happened. Harry didn't know what it was like to be teased – as he had usually been the one doing the teasing – but he could imagine that Hermione wouldn't want to talk about it. So he would do just that: not talk about it. He wasn't going to freaking cuddle her, or sing her to sleep, or anything like that, but he could at least not mention it and act as though it was another normal day.

And Hermione seemed to be trying to act like it didn't happen, either. He had to give the girl credit: she did compose herself pretty well. Although she was a little quieter and she'd been cowering away more than usual, it wasn't enough to be considered completely out of the ordinary. She'd be fine, wouldn't she?

"I'm not that cold," Hermione replied with dignity. It was kind of cute.

"You're shivering."

Hermione looked down and saw her own trembling body. She was wearing Muggle clothes, as she always did on these nightly tours. Maybe she felt comfortable because she knew that Harry was raised by Muggles, as well. She shrugged, defeated. "Well, okay, I guess I'm a little cold."

Harry wondered why anyone would tease Hermione… she wasn't ugly. Did anyone here see that? Did nobody else see those big brown eyes, or those freckles across her nose, or that smile?

He knew that the bullying was most likely more towards how smart she was – she really was incredibly smart, it was almost scary – and the fact that her only real friend was Nevio. Or Neville. Whoever that boy was.

"What time is it?" Hermione asked quietly. Her voice was so soft that he had to strain to hear her.

"Who cares?"

Hermione shrugged. "True."

Harry paused. "How long have you been staying up?" he asked. The dark circles under her eyes were far worse than his own; she must have been keeping this unbreakable habit for a while.

"Too long," she replied. She rubbed her eyes. "I started around when I turned twelve, and I'm turning sixteen in a couple of weeks." Then Hermione stopped looking at the floor and turned to face him, those dark circles looking even darker than before. Four years… how could she even still function? "You?"

"Just before this school year started. I'm a rookie, you know," he said jokingly. She didn't smile.

"What happened?" she asked gently. Her eyes squinted as her gaze searched his face, looking for answers. Of course she'd draw the right conclusions; that something traumatic must've happened for him to start staying up at night.

No matter how bad Hermione's day was, she still showed concern for him. It made him feel like a horrible person.

"A lot happened," Harry said.

"Well, I know that you didn't run away," she told him confidently. "The _Daily Prophet_ is rubbish."

In that moment, Harry was almost willing to tell Hermione about Voldemort, about Sirius, about every single thing that had been worrying him. He knew that she wouldn't breathe a word of it. But after four years of staying awake herself, she clearly had her own problems to deal with. Four years… just as long as she'd been at Hogwarts.

Oh God.

. . . . .

"Late night?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. That was his response every time someone asked him about his sleeping habits. Only Hermione really knew just how little sleep he got. It must've been something about nighttime and its loneliness that made Harry and Hermione freely talk about stuff like that.

Ron winked at him, and Harry said, "You're disgusting," because it wasn't anything like that.

"Oh, come on, you know I'm joking," Ron said. "Unless… you've already –"

"No, I haven't been with any girls here yet," Harry told him.

Although, really, he was not oblivious to the stares he got from various girls at school. Girls loved bad boys. Harry still could not wrap his head around that philosophy, but it sure as hell worked. Maybe it was about time to find someone to hook up with. Many of the girls at this school seemed willing.

"Whoah, whoah, look out, to your left," Ron hastily whispered in his ear. It was spoken in that oh-God-there's-a-hot-girl-in-our-presence voice. Even wizards could pull that off. Harry was impressed.

Harry snapped his head to the left, and sure enough, oh God there was a hot girl in their presence. She was about as pretty as Hermione, but she certainly walked with more confidence and was one of those willing girls.

"Hey, Harry," she said with a smile as she walked past.

And before Harry could even have time to process what was going on, she walked away. Just like that. He knew that stunt that girls pulled very well.

"That's Cho Chang, the girl I was telling you about, who poured a bucket of water on Granger," Ron said, flustered.

The girl then turned and smiled at Harry once more.

He didn't smile back.

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**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading! I might switch to updating on Sundays instead of Fridays. We'll see what happens. Hope you enjoyed the chapter :)


	12. It's a Long Story

**Author's Note: **Hey guys! Sorry that this is a day late. I've actually been working on a new story. Oooh. Ahhh. It's HHr, obviously, what other ship is there? It's certainly very different from what I've read and I'm considering whether or not I should even put it on the site. Maybe when I finish that fic I'll look it over and made the decision. We'll see what happens :) Enjoy!

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Twelve: It's a Long Story_

At first, Hermione didn't even know it was her birthday until she glanced over at her calendar.

Had she gotten to the point where she really didn't even care anymore?

So she was one year older. She certainly didn't _feel _sixteen. What was being sixteen supposed to feel like? Care-free, surrounded by boys, loving life? Hermione didn't belong in that category, or any category, really. She didn't belong anywhere.

Hermione crawled out of bed – careful not to wake the girls around her, or all hell would break loose – and stumbled into the bathroom, still not completely awake. She had to spend a little more time combing through her hair and taming it with sprays that her mother had given her because her hair was not cooperating. What else was new? She washed her face and was all set. There was no point in makeup, really. Nothing she could do would enhance anything she had. It was hopeless.

She examined her face in the mirror and she concluded that she certainly didn't look sixteen. If anything, she looked embarrassingly younger with her small frame and thin face. Hermione wasn't really expecting to feel anything. It was just another day. The only person she'd told her birthday to that was in the castle with her was Neville, but he probably forgot. He forgot _every bloody thing_.

Hermione scattered out of the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as she could but barely staying steady on two feet. Her lack of sleep was really getting to her, and she knew it. But there was nothing she could do to stop the bad, unhealthy habit. The sleeping girls around her were the reason for it.

She rubbed her eyes, put on her school robes, got her books, and walked out into the common room. Hermione nearly tripped down the stairs in the process. She clutched her books to her chest protectively, as she always did. Harry was sitting in the common room alone. He nodded to her and one side of his mouth curved up in a smile. She nodded back and headed out the portrait hole to the library.

So far, the only things she looked forward to were her nights with Harry. They didn't act like they knew each other when other people were around, and maybe that was for the best. Harry would've gotten teased if anyone knew they were associated in any way, and both of them knew it. It didn't bother Hermione. It wasn't like they were now close friends… she couldn't even say they were _friends_. She knew that she certainly didn't completely trust him. But something about being alone with him and having the whole night ahead of them made her feel… free. It was liberating to be out there with him.

Hermione had continued to teach him about Potions, and the week before, Harry had answered one of Snape's questions correctly, much to the professor's and the students' surprise. Afterwards, he had winked at Hermione and she was happy the rest of that day. They had had a laughing fit over the whole encounter that night during their tour. She never really saw Harry laugh often. Her assumptions about his home life were still fresh in her mind. The thought that he lived in a home where he was unloved shook her. She might've not been friends with him, but imagining anyone living a life like that tugged at her heartstrings. She certainly knew that something bad had happened. Hermione didn't know all the answers and a part of her didn't even want to know them.

Harry had gotten a wand, but according to him, he hadn't performed a proper spell yet, although he'd made a few sparks fly before during his last Charms tutoring lesson. Hermione was ready to offer to help him out, but she was concerned for her own safety, and so she bit her tongue. And besides, she didn't want to see his reaction to magic. Professor McGonagall had warned her about that already. Clearly, something had happened to him in the past that made him afraid of magic.

By the time breakfast rolled around and Neville sat down nonchalantly, Hermione knew that her only friend had forgotten her birthday. It happened every year. She always remembered _his _birthday. Why did she have to be stuck with Neville? Sure, they were friends and generally tried to get along, but Hermione got fed up with him so often. It seemed like their point of views and ways of living were miles apart. He couldn't keep up with her.

"G'morning, Hermione," Neville mumbled.

"Good morning, Neville," Hermione replied stiffly.

What was she expecting anyway? It made no sense to be let down when her expectations weren't up in the first place.

Her mood, however, had significantly been improved when the owls came in and one owl swooped onto the table to land right in front of her. It had a letter and a small package attached to its ankle.

"Wha's tha' for?" Neville asked lazily. He still hadn't completely woken up yet. And he still hadn't remembered what day it was.

Typical.

Hermione ignored him and beamed at what her parents had given her. She removed the letter and package, and the owl took off through one of the windows of the Great Hall. A few people looked over curiously, wondering why anyone would ever give Hermione Granger a gift. She tore apart the envelope and unfolded the parchment. It was a long letter from her parents, wishing her a happy birthday and telling her how much they loved her and were proud of her. There were different bits of handwriting – they'd written portions of the letter separately – where her mother's neat cursive wrote bouts of "you're a woman now" and where her father's messy scrawl joked about how she couldn't "run off with a boy" just because she was sixteen. Hermione reread the letter over and over again. It smelled like her mother's perfume. She missed her parents so, so much. It seemed like the only two people in the world who truly cared for her were miles and miles away from this castle from Hell.

Trying to hold in tears, Hermione opened the wrappings of her gift. A lot of people around her had gone back to their normal breakfast routines, ignoring her.

"Oh, it's your birthday!" Neville said, suddenly understanding what was going on. "Happy birthday, Hermione! I knew I'd forgotten something…"

Poor Neville. The boy's Remebrall had been smashed by Draco Malfoy during a flying lesson in their first year.

Hermione quickly thanked him and grasped at the wrappings until a small box was revealed. It had small, simple designs on the box that were embroidered all around it. She distractedly traced the designs with her small fingertips, and then carefully opened the box. She gasped.

There was a heart pendant hanging off of a thin, silver chain. It was the most beautiful necklace she'd ever seen. The sight of it brought a smile to her face; and she rarely ever smiled. It made Hermione miss her parents even more. She wished she could see them again, even for a few moments. It would mean the world to her.

"Neville, will you?" she asked, gestured to the clasp of the necklace. He wiped some excess soup off his face with the back of his hand, nodded, and she turned around. He clasped the necklace right at the base of her neck. It made a pretty _snip_ noise.

"Thank you," she said softly. She reached down and admired the small, beautiful heart pendant.

"I'm sorry I didn't get you a presen', 'Mione," Neville said, rubbing his eyes. "I'll owl Gran an' see if she can pick out a presen' for you…"

"It's fine, Neville," Hermione told him shortly. There was no need.

The rest of the day had gone by smoothly. Sure, there was usual chatter about her seeping through conversations of other students, but the new, beautiful-necklace-wearing Hermione couldn't really find herself to care today. Loony Lovegood – a girl who was even less popular than Hermione – had passed her in the corridor, and said that her necklace was "very unusual" but "eye-catching at the same time". Hermione guessed that was supposed to be a compliment.

Harry outsmarted Snape during Potions, and he caught her eye just as he had before and winked. Hermione gave him a small smile back. And then they went about their ways, just as they always did.

It was a strange relationship she had with Harry Potter.

At night, they were themselves. They talked about school, about magic, about being raised by Muggles. About lots of things. Slowly they had been getting more comfortable around each other over the last couple of weeks. It was strange, to actually have a real conversation with someone. Talking to Neville didn't involve too many long, drawn-out, important conversations. But talking to Harry involved _real _conversations. She'd only been able to talk to her parents like that. Sure, Harry still intimidated her with his actions and that mysterious past she didn't want to really know about… but that was something she was going to have to get used to.

Near the end of Transfiguration, Hermione received a note from McGonagall herself. _Meet me in my office after class. _At first, her mind whirled to search out what she could have possibly done wrong. She certainly didn't remember acting out. In fact, if anything, she'd been on her best possible behavior, considering the horrible treatment that she got from the other students.

But nonetheless, she walked into the professor's office slowly, quietly closing the door behind her.

"Sit," McGonagall ordered.

Hermione swallowed and sat down. She clutched her books to her chest protectively. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. It's about your tours with Potter."

"What about them?" Hermione asked curiously. Had they done something wrong?

"I just wanted to check in and see how you two are doing. I need to make sure that everything is okay."

"Oh," she said, immediately feeling relieved. "Yes, everything's going well."

"Just well?" McGonagall raised her eyebrows in curiosity, like she was begging for a more elaborate answer.

"Harry's not a bad person," Hermione said awkwardly. "I think he's gotten a bad reputation." A bad reputation that she had once believed in before she actually got to know him.

"I think that's the case, as well," the professor noted. "So, everything is going alright? No problems or complaints?"

"None at all." Hermione rubbed her eyes.

"I see. Well, if you do have anything to say on the manner, you know where to find me."

"Yes, Professor." Hermione stood up to leave. When she faced the door and grasped the doorknob with her skinny hand, McGonagall spoke.

"Oh, and also, Miss Granger, I've taken into account an incident that you had with Miss Chang a few weeks back. Teachers hear things, too, you know. She's received punishment for her actions. I hope that gives you a piece of mind," McGonagall told her.

Hermione froze there, not sure of how to react. Then she smiled and quietly said, "Thank you," before leaving the office. When outside, she leaned against the closed door and let out a huge breath of air. Cho was formally punished for what she did, but would that stop her?

No.

That was one huge common mistake that teachers made: _nothing _could stop people like Cho Chang.

It was sickening, really.

That night, Hermione met up with Harry. Well, sort of. He was late, as usual. She never questioned him about it… it became a normal routine of theirs.

"Did you see me whoop his ass _again_?" Harry said as a way of greeting. He was obviously referring to Snape.

Hermione laughed. "That was great," she agreed.

"All thanks to you," Harry told her, smiling. "Honestly, I couldn't have done it without you, Hermione."

"It's no problem." She smiled back.

They walked around Gryffindor Tower, content in their silence and ignoring all of the paintings that shouted after them with things like, "Young Potter is here!" and "Aren't they far past curfew?"

"That's a nice necklace," Harry said abruptly, gesturing to the heart pendant.

Hermione grasped the pendant. The cold material met her warm fingers. "Thank you," she said softly. Other than Luna and Neville, Harry was the only person to outwardly notice the necklace. It was kind of un-Harry-like, but she'd take the compliment either way.

"You weren't wearing it yesterday."

Normally boys didn't pay attention to things like that… did they?

"My parents sent it in the mail for me," she explained, smiling at the memory.

"That's nice of them." Clearly, he thought it was a random present.

"Oh, well… it's my birthday, so they usually send in something," she stuttered. It was awkward to tell someone it was her birthday... it was almost like she was demanding a Happy Birthday wish or presents or cake or something. She had always gotten used to the idea that nobody really cared about her birthday.

Harry's green eyes grew wide, hitting her with even more intensity than usual. "Oh, happy birthday, then," he said genuinely, smiling. He didn't say that he should've gotten her a present, or anything tactful like that, but that was what made Harry, well, _Harry_.

"Thanks."

"Did you get any other presents?" he asked.

Geez. Hermione thought he'd stop there at saying "Happy Birthday".

"Er, well, Neville forgot my birthday again, so…" she paused there and shrugged, not really knowing what else to say to him. Neville was her only real friend. It was pathetic, but true. She almost felt bad for talking about him in front of Harry. Almost.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

They kept walking and their footsteps seemed so loud in such an empty castle. Hogwarts looked so different at night. She rubbed her eyes.

"Neville forgets everything," Hermione said. She'd never told her parents how aggravating it could sometimes be to have Neville as a friend. "It's almost like… I don't know."

"Like what?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Well, it's just that as I said, he forgets everything. I practically do all of his homework since he doesn't know a thing. He's my friend and all, but he's just _hopeless_. And sometimes, it's really aggravating to have to deal with that every day. And he's not exactly the best confidence booster, either."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, on some of my worst days, he'll point out my frizzy hair or my pointed nose or… oh, forget it."

Hermione twirled her hair self-consciously. Sometimes Neville would tell her that she wasn't looking so good, or that her hair was acting up, or that she really needed to eat more, or anything like that. At first, he hadn't been like that… but the longer they were friends, the more comfortable he felt to critique her. Perhaps his anger at his own personal failures made him desire to point out others' flaws. Either way, it really got under Hermione's skin.

"But your hair and nose are fine," Harry commented. He genuinely seemed very confused, as though he couldn't understand Neville's point and really thought that her hair and nose were fine.

"Well, thank you," Hermione said quietly.

She wanted to argue with him, but Harry probably didn't want to hear all of that. So she folded her arms over her chest and looked down at the floor. It was impossible to believe that Harry really thought that Neville didn't have a point. Maybe it was all a show.

"I don't see why Neville does things like that," Harry said. Then he turned to look over at her with those bright green eyes. "In fact, I think you're really pretty."

Hermione stopped walking, and seconds later, Harry stopped, too. She looked up at him.

"Er, thanks."

The words rolled around in her head but she couldn't make sense of them.

_In fact, I think you're really pretty._

Nobody outside of her family – especially not a _boy_ – had ever called her pretty, or even anything minutely close to it. So it was strange to hear those words directed at her. Part of her wanted to turn around and see if there had been a really pretty girl tagging along with them the whole time, and if Harry had been talking to _that _girl.

It seemed impossible that a boy like Harry – admittedly, he was rather handsome, although she never really thought him that way before – would say that to a girl like Hermione – plain, boring, ugly. The universe just didn't work that way, unfortunately.

Although, a small part of Hermione wanted to squeal in excitement, because someone had called her _pretty_. Her heart raced on its own accord just from thinking about the compliment.

"I, er, want to go to the Owlery. You know, to send a thank-you letter to my parents," Hermione said timidly.

Harry nodded and said, "Lead the way."

The weather was chilly; at the very beginning of the year, the warmth from summer had still lingered in the atmosphere. But now the autumn equinox was upon them, and they couldn't escape the cold that bit their skin.

"I should've brought a jacket," Hermione said stupidly.

They finally got to the Owlery and she pulled her reply letter out of the pocket of her jeans. She'd opted for a long-sleeve shirt that hugged her waist a little too much, but she'd been rushing and hadn't had time to pick out anything else.

After warning Harry that she was going to perform magic, she whispered, "_Lumos_." Light emitted from her wand's tip. She wondered briefly how Harry was doing on performing magic himself, but she refrained from asking. If he hadn't made much progress, it might've been too embarrassing for him to admit.

"It'll only take a minute," she promised.

Hermione scanned the owls and picked out a medium-sized dark owl. Its big eyes focused on her. She summoned it over with small cooing noises. As she tied her letter to its ankle, a thought struck her from the last time they'd visited the Owlery. "Did your friend ever reply to your letter?" she asked Harry, turning away from her letter in order to face him.

"Oh, er, yeah," Harry said.

"Good."

There was a small silence that was occupied by Hermione's work on tying the letter together. "Oh, darn it, could you hold the wand up for me while I tie this? I think I wrote a little too much, and the more parchment I have to tie down, the harder it is."

Harry stared at the wand for a moment, but then he said, "Er, yeah, sure."

Hermione felt that trusting Harry with magic was kind of stupid of her, but this might've been good for him. "Here." She handed it over and he grasped the wand firmly, almost _too _firmly, but she didn't criticize him. His hand was shaking.

What happened to make him that way? For a moment, Hermione thirsted to know what had happened to him. He didn't even look tough anymore. He looked childish and afraid. It was unsettling to see Harry like that.

Hermione quickly worked on tying the letter by Harry's shaking hand controlling the wand light, and in less than a minute, she was finished. "Done!" she said quickly, and he eagerly handed the wand back over to her.

"I'm sorry," she said apologetically. He really did seem nervous. "You know, the wand won't do anything that you don't want it to. _Knox_."

The light went out as the owl next to her took off from the Owlery and pounced into the night. Its dark wings batted against the equally dark sky.

"I know that," Harry told her as they left the Owlery.

"I'm not sure you do," she said honestly. It was the truth.

Harry looked over at her and gave her a quizzical look, but he didn't say anything back, which surprised Hermione.

"I'd like to help you, Harry," Hermione continued.

And now she knew that she really _did _want to help him. It was painful to see him so afraid of magic… magic was such a beautiful thing. Why couldn't he see that? Before, she'd been afraid of helping him out with this, but it was clear that someone needed to give him assistance. Otherwise, who knew where he'd go? He clearly didn't belong wherever he was back home, and so what would happen if he didn't belong in the wizarding world, either? He would be lost. He would be just as lost as Hermione... and she knew that feeling too well to able to let someone else experience it.

Harry just looked at her again with that same look. He looked as though he were considering it. They had approached the door to the castle; Harry wordlessly opened it for her.

"But in order for me to help you," Hermione went on, "I need to know what happened to you… I need to know what made you this way. Otherwise I won't know how to treat it."

Harry looked extremely torn, as though whatever had happened was a huge secret, but at the same time, he knew he needed some help. He sighed and covered his face with his hands. A few moments later, his hands fell from his sides and he wore a stern expression.

"What I'm about to tell you stays between us," he told her. She nodded back. She wouldn't tell a soul; she could at least do that much. "Let's find somewhere to sit down, Hermione. It's a long story."

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**Author's Note: **This may seem too soon, but my God, _something _needed to happen. Obviously Harry won't be completely spilling his guts and giving intricate details, haha. So yeah, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading! :)


	13. Voldemort's Back

**Author's Note:** So, this is what you've been waiting for. Harry's basically gonna tell Hermione all the crazy shit that's been going down. Can you believe we're up to chapter thirteen already?

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Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Thirteen: Voldemort's Back_

Hermione followed Harry to a staircase, where they both sat down. So what if the staircase moved? It wasn't like they had a destination, anyway.

Harry took a deep breath and faced her. "Like I said before, you can't tell a soul."

"Who would I tell?" Hermione questioned. "Whatever you have to say, it's safe with me."

Harry nodded slowly, appearing to be in a trance. He looked at peace with her reply. She briefly wondered how long he had been bottling all of this up. Harry seemed to be to the point of breaking from holding all of this information in. For a short moment, Hermione wanted to tell him to never mind and that she didn't want to know – with that look of dread on his face, it seemed that this story was going to be worse than she'd expected – but she knew that Harry needed this release.

He ran his fingers through his hair nervously and began.

"I lived my whole life not knowing about magic at all. There were legal issues involved that made me unable to attend Hogwarts when I was eleven, just like everyone else."

"Guardians' Rights Laws," Hermione whispered. He didn't get permission, as the _Prophet_ had said. At least they got something right.

"But then I was introduced to magic. Everything changed."

"But _how_?" she asked. She had to know what made him so nervous around it.

"I'm getting to that," he told her in a cautious tone. She shifted a few centimeters away from him. "A few days before term started, I was walking back home. A man by the name of Peter Pettigrew was disguised as an elderly man. He dropped his hat, but it was a portkey. Of course I didn't know that at the time… I didn't even know what a portkey was. So, anyway, the old man asked me to get it for him. So I did."

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Already, she knew that whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't anything close to this.

"Where did the portkey take you?" she asked quietly, her eyes wide.

Harry paused, as though very, very torn on deciding what to say and just how to say whatever he needed to say. He exhaled and said, "Hermione, I'm assuming you've heard of Lord Voldemort?"

The world around Hermione froze. She knew that Harry must have learned about Voldemort, but to hear that name being referenced right now sent a chill down her spine. Goosebumps emerged on her skinny arms. Her stomach performed twists and turns and sunk to her knees. Whatever Hermione had been expecting, it certainly was not _this_. She wouldn't have assumed, in a million years, that Voldemort was actually involved in this. Hermione had a dreadful feeling that this was going to be more tragic than she'd expected.

"Y-Yes, I've heard of Voldemort," she said in a shaky voice. She was one of the few students who actually dared to say Voldemort's name out loud. "Harry, why are you mentioning Voldemort? What happened?" she asked quickly.

He looked shocked to see her "I was portkeyed to a graveyard where he was waiting for me."

Oh God.

Oh God, oh God.

Hermione grasped the railing of the staircase. It shook and the staircase moved. Hermione remained sitting there, not sure how to grasp this information. Every part of her being turned to ice.

The normalcy of that staircase moving made her sick. How could anything around her be normal when _Voldemort was back_? She wanted to scream at that staircase for acting so normal, for doing what it was supposed to do. Why hadn't the entire world stopped and screamed in fear? There were people sleeping in this castle, unaware of what was going on at this very moment… she wanted to shake them awake and yell at them for being so _normal _and _average _while an evil man still existed, was still out there, planning devious, unimaginable things…

Voldemort was back….

"Voldemort's back?" she asked so quietly that she wasn't even completely sure that the words actually came out of her mouth. "What? How?"

Harry nodded. "He wants to return to power. He thought that getting to me first would deal with one of his biggest problems. Him defeating the one person who had defeated _him _would have been a perfect beginning to his return," he said slowly, in a low voice. "According to him, he's been slowly regaining his strength all these years. He wasn't ever really dead…"

"Oh, Lord," Hermione said. Her stomach twisted uncomfortable into eternal knots just at the thought of that god-awful man being back to do terrible, terrible things like he'd done the last time he was in power. Things were going to change from now on. All this time, she had believed that he was slowly returning to power, but _so soon_? "Dumbledore's been claiming that Voldemort was returning for a couple of years now."

"Well, he was right," Harry said, resigned. There was a shock of redness ringing his eyes.

She shifted her body over so that she could face him more head-on. She choked out the question: "What happened in the graveyard?"

Harry hunched forward and grabbed his knees. "I didn't know a thing about magic at the time, of course. So naturally, it was all really confusing at first. Wormtail – er, Peter Pettigrew, I mean – tied me up to this huge statue. He's like Voldemort's right-hand man, so to speak. His Death Eaters showed up soon after. And for God knew how long, Voldemort told me all about magic… well, it was all biased of course. He talked about how he was the real vanquisher, and he'd rise again, and he promised he'd kill me."

It looked like it pained him to just recall what had happened… and it pained Hermione to hear about it.

"Oh, my," was all Hermione could say. It was difficult to fully understand that all of this had actually happened to Harry. How had this made him afraid of magic? Yes, he'd seen Voldemort and heard the evil man's rants on his biased opinions, but… surely he must have seen magic performed?

Unless…

"Soon after that, he demonstrated magic," Harry said shortly. "That's why I'm so nervous around it."

"Oh, God, Harry," Hermione cooed. The atmosphere around them kept getting colder and colder. Her mind raced. The next few words she spoke were hard to say: "Did he hurt you? Were you… were you _tortured_?"

He closed his eyes tightly. And then he nodded.

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing: Harry had been tortured by Lord Voldemort.

And all along, Hermione had thought magic was beautiful. But she could see his point now. Harry's first experience with magic had involved being tortured by the evilest man the wizarding world had ever seen. Had that happened to _her_, she wouldn't have wanted to be ten feet near a wand. That was, without a doubt, the _worst _possible way to be introduced to magic.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she continued. She felt a tear fall down her right cheek but she didn't bother to wipe it away.

"S'alright."

He looked so fragile and weak that it broke Hermione's heart. Hermione never thought she'd care about Harry so much, but in that moment, she felt very protective of him and wanted to help him as much as she could. Nobody deserved to go through what he experienced. She leaned forward and held his hand. He looked like he was going to pull away, but he didn't. His hand was so cold…

"It's not alright," Hermione said, her brows knitting together. "What happened to you was absolutely horrible. Nobody should ever have to go through something like that."

Harry shrugged helplessly. What happened had happened. The dark circles beneath his startling green eyes looked even darker. "I got out, though," he said weakly, as though he were grasping any possible positive side to this situation.

"How so?" Surely this part of the tale couldn't be as bad. After all, he'd gotten out alive. That was something.

"The portkey was a few feet away from where I stood. Had it been any further, I wouldn't have gotten away. The ropes had just been tied together by magic, but they weren't secured the same way… I think he underestimated me. So, I managed to untie the knots behind me. When Voldemort's back was turned and before he was going to use the Cruciatus Curse again, I went for the portkey. I managed to get out of the graveyard just in time."

Harry sat there breathlessly after his explanation. He removed his hand from hers. He looked at everything else around them except for Hermione until, finally, his eyes glanced at her with the saddest expression she'd ever seen.

"You look like you don't believe me," Harry said, his voice drowning in anguish.

Hermione _did_ believe him, how could he not see that? But before she could say anything, he turned his arm so that the underside of his forearm was revealed. There was a deep gash that traced the length of his forearm. Hermione gasped and another tear escaped. She'd soon begin full-out sobbing if she kept facing the reality of what had happened to him.

"I thought he just used magic…" she whispered, her lips barely moving. This was a mark of Muggle-like torture.

"His servant, Pettigrew, took my blood to restore Voldemort's power," Harry explained. He looked down at the injury with hurt eyes and a frown. "I couldn't have done this myself; I would've passed out, or not even reached the depth that this did…" He looked away from the gash and focused his green eyes on her.

Hermione knew he was trying to convince her that he was telling the truth. She already believed him… she didn't need to be convinced of anything. She reached forward and gently touched the gash. His arm trembled when she touched him. Her thin fingers traced the wound as gently as possible. It was raised in some places from healing, and there were small remains of stitches putting the skin together.

"I believe you, Harry," she whispered.

"Good," he said, relieved. He looked at where her hand blessed his wound with her soft and gentle touch. "Dumbledore's afraid that if this gets out, nobody will believe me and I'll be made a joke. We need solid evidence before warning the public that Voldemort's back."

Hermione pulled away from him, surprised. "But wouldn't you _want _people to be aware of what's going on?"

"There's an organization out there that's helping the cause," Harry explained. She knew that there was more to this than what he was telling her, but she didn't press him for more information. "It's basically made up of the people that Dumbledore trusts. They believe me."

"Is Professor McGonagall involved as well?" she asked. Harry had told Hermione that Professor McGonagall had been helping him out when it came to getting him used to magic, more so than any of the other teachers.

Harry paused. "Yes, she is."

"Does Ron know, too?"

Harry nodded and coughed. "Yes. You and the Weasley kids are the only other students in the school who know. I plan to keep it that way for now."

"I won't tell anyone," she promised for the second time.

"Good."

"This is a lot to take in, Harry," she told him with a sigh.

Her hands were shaking just from imagining the things that Voldemort could do. It still seemed unreal, the fact that he was back. Somewhere in the world, Voldemort existed, just as powerful as he was before. He'd made Neville have to visit his parents in a special ward at St. Mungo's, he'd made Harry and orphan, and God knew how many other people were affected by his wrath. Everything was going to change from now on.

"I mean, I knew that Dumbledore had been right all along," she continued breathlessly, "but I always imagined Voldemort returning years from now… not so soon." Her voice lowered to a whisper when she asked, "Are you scared, Harry?", because she surely was.

Harry shrugged and nervously sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. "Well, he had me in that graveyard with the intentions of killing me, and I know that he'll come back one day… he'll return and try to kill me again. And he'll keep attempting until he succeeds." His voice was wavering and cracking. "So, yeah, I guess I'm a little scared."

"You need to be prepared, then," Hermione said as confidently as she could. She had to be the strong one, for Harry's sake. She sat up straight, as though that would do anything. "Now I can help you since I know what happened to you and I know why you're scared. Because if – if Voldemort comes back and – and tries to kill you, you'll be ready, H-Harry."

Her voice was faltering and she tried to compose herself as much as she could. She was on the verge of tears. Harry looked so… _broken_.

"Yeah, McGonagall told me the same thing," he said. His chin trembled. "What's the point, though, if Voldemort is so much more powerful than I am? He'll kill me one day, I know that."

His defeated voice nearly broke her heart once again. Harry really thought that his fate was drawing near and that Voldemort would kill him. His feeling of hopelessness made another tear fall down Hermione's cheek.

"You escaped him before," Hermione reminded him. _That _was something… it was hope. "You were given a second chance. _Use that chance_. I can help you. Together, we'll work on getting you used to magic."

"How?" he asked in a small voice. He looked at her with sad green eyes. He looked smaller, not like the fifteen-year-old boy that he really was. Harry hunched over and hugged his knees. "I'm hopeless."

"You're not hopeless," Hermione said tenderly. She leaned forward to touch his shoulder. He shivered at her touch but didn't pull away. He was more solid than she'd expected… Hermione had kind of thought of Harry as a bit scrawny from his over-sized, hand-me-down looking Muggle clothes and loose-fitting school robes, but he actually seemed to have some muscle. Her heart raced and she blushed. She'd never really touched a boy before like this. "We'll figure out a way to work through this. I'll help you."

From his hunched position, Harry quietly said, "Thank you. I don't even deserve your help, but thank you."

"There's no need to thank me."

There was a small silence between them, and Hermione formulated a question. "Is that why you don't sleep at night? Because of what happened?" she asked gently. Her hand was still resting on his shoulder. His breathing was small and steady and weak, and his surprisingly solid shoulder rose and fell with the rhythm of his breath in a sad, harmonic tempo.

"Yes," he admitted. His voice was partially muffled from the way he was sitting. His head was buried in his crossed arms as he was leaned forward. "The nightmares are extremely realistic." Before Hermione could say anything, he looked up at her and asked, "Why do _you _stay awake?"

For a moment she hesitated, prepared to not tell him a thing. But Harry had told her so much, and so it was only fair that he knew the truth in turn. She let go of his shoulder and sat up straight.

"I've gotten into a habit of staying awake because I didn't want to face the other girls in the dormitories… I – I knew they'd tease me. I always returned to the dorm long after they fell asleep because I couldn't face them. And now it's a habit that I can't break," she told him truthfully. It was strange to finally reveal this to someone… but at the same time, it was liberating and a huge relief. Hermione could suddenly understand why Harry was telling her all he told her; he must have been dying to tell _someone_ what had happened to him.

"I know what Cho did to you a couple of weeks ago," Harry said as a reply. He sounded angry. Hermione froze. He hadn't _acted _like he knew what had happened. Hermione remembered him acting as though it were any other night right after the incident with Cho. Maybe that's what he had intended; it would have been humiliating to face Harry immediately after what happened. "That was horrible of her. That's why I haven't been giving her the attention she wants… she doesn't deserve it, the bitch."

"Oh."

Cho had been making a few advancements on Harry lately – everyone could see that – but he'd been completely ignoring her. And until now, she never knew the reasoning behind it all. Hermione felt a rush of gratitude towards him.

"I used to be the person pouring buckets of water on people," Harry admitted solemnly.

Hermione snapped her head to face him with wide eyes. "I'm sorry?"

"Before I was introduced to magic, _I_ was the bully. I led a gang around my town… I realize it was stupid, really, now that I'm looking back on it." He laughed humorlessly. "I was just this kid… this kid with nothing else to do and nobody to trust. I turned into a monster. And I didn't realize how horrible it was until I met a _real _monster."

He was referring to Voldemort. Hermione didn't know what to say, so she remained silent and stared at his conflicted expressions as he continued to explain himself.

"Now I have more things to worry about. I don't care about antagonizing people or making others feel worse just so I can feel better about myself." He looked up at her with those big green eyes. "You probably hate me now because of who I was," he said, sighing.

He glanced away from her, as though he were ashamed of what he had just admitted. The staircase moved again but neither of them had a reaction to it. The staircase could keep moving all night and they wouldn't even care.

"I don't hate you, Harry," Hermione said calmly. "I know you're different now."

She knew Harry wasn't a bully. Maybe he'd been that person before, but Hermione knew that now, he wasn't a _bully_. She knew how to detect someone like that from a mile away. Sure, he'd beaten up Malfoy but –

"Why did you beat up Draco?"

Harry looked around nervously, as though he were afraid someone would overhear whatever he was about to say. "Draco's father is a Death Eater."

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth. "What? Harry, that's a huge accusation –"

"Voldemort referred to one of the Death Eaters as Lucius Malfoy," Harry said angrily. He gritted his teeth together. "He watched as Voldemort tortured me…"

"Oh my –"

"I mean, you don't have to believe me, but that's what I heard."

"No, no, I believe you," Hermione reassured him with a soothing tone. He seemed so furious just by the mention of Lucius Malfoy, and she wanted him to calm down. It was nerve-wracking to see him angry like this. "I understand why you went after Draco, then. Maybe you were a bit… over the top… but he _is _a git and he had something coming to him."

"Has he ever done anything to you?" Harry pressed.

This question didn't seem to settle down his anger, so she didn't elaborate when she answered with, "Not really."

Telling Harry that Draco's little snarky comments had slowly evolved into threats of sexual harassment clearly wouldn't calm him down, so she did not feel it was necessary to tell the complete truth when Harry seemed too angry already.

"Not really?" he repeated.

"I mean, he's just sort of a git to everyone. Maybe more so to me because I'm Muggleborn…"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Harry, nobody told you?" Hermione asked, astonished.

How could he have gone a day without hearing that sort of prejudice aimed at someone? "Mudblood" was a common part of the Slytherin's vocabulary; he'd ought to have heard it by now.

"Well, I think Voldemort mentioned something about Muggleborns, or that my mum was one, or something... I know what they _are_, it's just… why would he be more of a git to you _because _you're Muggleborn?"

It was refreshing to have Harry's open-mindedness amongst the prejudice that roamed the school. She almost didn't want to tell him what made her different from him (a half-blood) and Malfoy (a pureblood) and others, because his mind almost seemed too pure from those things that she didn't want to mess with it.

"Muggleborns are seen as inferior because we don't have 'magical blood'," Hermione explained to him regrettably.

"Well, that's bullshit," Harry said plainly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. She half-smiled at him. "You seem like a really good witch. I mean, you get all of the answers right in class."

From calling her pretty to calling her a good witch, Harry was suddenly really anxious to throw compliments her way. Hermione felt heat rush to her cheeks, which was kind of embarrassing. "Thank you."

"So, people will really be mean to you just because you're Muggleborn?" He seemed very surprised.

"That's one of the reasons, yes," Hermione said painfully. Her eyebrows furrowed together when rushes of memories of being teased came at her.

Harry sighed. He seemed deep in thought. "You know, I should have said something to Ron when he snapped at you on the Express," he told her.

That was a few weeks ago. Hermione hated thinking back to that moment. It was humiliating. She had thought that she would become immune to feeling embarrassed after experiencing that feeling so often, but it only got worse as time went on. She shook her head. "You didn't even know me then," she justified quietly.

It was true… what was Harry possibly supposed to do? Step up and be a gallant hero and save her from Ron's torments? Nobody would ever save Hermione… she wasn't stupid, she knew that.

"But now I know you," Harry replied. He gave her the same look that he did when he had called her pretty. Another rush of heat climbed up her neck and to her cheeks. Maybe he could see her flushed cheeks, but if he did, he didn't act like he had. "Ron shouldn't have treated you like that."

"It's alright," Hermione reassured him. She pushed a piece of hair behind her ear and bit her bottom lip.

It felt good to just have these things out in the open, to discuss stuff that had been previously unspoken. Hermione hadn't had much closure in her life, but she finally felt like this was a new beginning, a new start with Harry. Everything was being pushed behind them. Hermione had never felt so open with another person before, not even with her own mother.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked. He looked at her with an expression of concern flashing across his pale face.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm… fine," she said, flustered. "It's just that this is a lot of absorb and get used to."

"Sorry," he muttered.

She almost laughed at his childish apology, but she stopped herself, because nothing at the moment was funny at all. "Don't apologize… I'm guessing it's a relief to tell someone."

"Oh, you have no idea," Harry said gratefully. He massaged the back of his neck tenderly and shook his messy hair out of his eyes. "Thanks for listening."

"No problem." Hermione gave him a small smile. She looked down at her watch. It was one o'clock in the morning….

Who cared?

"So, do you really think that you can help me?" Harry asked her, as though her offer to help him was too good to be true. "I want to be able to defend myself. I need to prepare. Voldemort won't stop any time soon."

"Of course I can help you," Hermione said. She rubbed her eyes.

"You know, out of all the people I would've told about Voldemort, I never thought it would be you," Harry admitted, almost in a joking fashion.

"I can see how you'd think that," Hermione replied honestly.

Harry stood up from the staircase, looked her right in the eyes, and smiled.

"Friends?" He held out his hand for her to take.

Hermione smiled back at him and took his hand. He helped her to her feet. They then shook hands.

"Friends."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Aww ;)


	14. You're Protective of Her

**Author's Note:** Sorry that it took me so long to reply to your reviews! I was so busy all week. When I reply to reviews, I need to sit down and take some time out to put thought into my replies, so that I don't write just a quick generic "Thanks". Luckily, school is out soon, so I'll have more time to reply to reviews more quickly. Finals are coming up, so there may or may not be a chapter out next weekend. I've also been busy working on some upcoming stories that are becoming less like plot bunnies and more like structured stories. Ooh. Anyway… I hope that you enjoy the chapter and that it doesn't disappoint! :)

**Warning: **This chapter contains mature content involving sexual harassment. If you are under the age of thirteen, and/or are very offended by the mention of sexual harassment, please don't continue reading.

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Fourteen: You're Protective of Her_

"Trust me."

"But I –"

"Do you trust me, Harry?"

Harry stared at Hermione with his wand pointing at a pillow that sat on a stool. He swallowed nervously, and then nodded. Of course he trusted her. Out of all the people in this castle, he trusted her. Harry had told her everything about Voldemort, and it was such an immense relief. Yes, Sirius knew as well, but Sirius could not see Harry daily. Hermione was literally right by Harry's side. And to be able to talk about his fears about Voldemort freely every night was such a blessing. He wasn't even sure how to thank her just for existing.

"Then point and say, _Wingardium leviosa_!" Hermione ordered.

There was a rush of determination blazing in her eyes that startled him. He nervously aimed and repeated the incantation in a shaky voice, and the pillow began to levitate.

"Keep holding on, Harry," Hermione instructed firmly. It wasn't that soft, gentle voice that he'd enjoyed listening to; it was a completely different and stern voice that almost made him scared of disobeying her. It was certainly motivating, to say the least.

His heart raced just seeing the pillow floating above the stool, and he grasped the wand with both hands as Hermione continued to tell him to hold on… and the seconds passed and that pillow remained in the air, and Harry tried to grasp reality and convince himself that nothing bad was going to happen. Hermione's words swirled in his head, telling him that everything was going to be okay. But he could only handle it for a few more moments before the wand dropped to the floor and the pillow fell as well.

Hermione sighed. "That's ten more seconds than last time," she noted, clicking a button on a Muggle stopwatch with an air of finality.

Every night for the last week, they'd been practicing simple spells that Hermione had learned in her first year at Hogwarts. Harry had certainly made progress. He could hold a spell for a record of one and a half minutes. It was an improvement that he was only too happy to share with Sirius. Sirius asked questions about Hermione – the mysterious girl who'd come from nowhere to Harry's aid – and Harry replied with answers. She'd certainly gotten Sirius's approval… if only she knew that Sirius Black was Harry's godfather…

Harry had told Hermione many things involving Voldemort, but he had yet to tell her about Sirius. It seemed like the tale of Sirius would be far too dangerous and put Sirius at risk. And so Harry kept his mouth shut. He knew that he could trust her, and maybe in time he would tell her one day. But until now, it was a secret he'd keep.

Another secret he had refrained from revealing to Hermione was his situation back at Number Four, Privet Drive. He felt that she didn't need to know things like that. He saw the way she had reacted just to a gash given to him by Wormtail… he couldn't possibly imagine her reaction to his lifetime of similar torments. A part of Harry desperately wanted to tell Hermione, just to feel the sense of liberation by letting go of bottled up secrets.

What would she do if she found out that he'd been kept in a cupboard? That the marks on his shoulders were from Uncle Vernon's belt? That when she touched his shoulder the other night, he shivered because he wasn't used to being touched in a comforting way?

"Can we stop for today?" Harry asked breathlessly. "We've been at this for a good three hours…"

Hermione looked at her stopwatch with hesitation. Her brows furrowed together until she looked over at him; her face softened. "Alright," she said finally. "Just for today. We'll start up tomorrow again."

She moved the pillows to a corner of the room with her wand. Hermione had been insistent on performing little bits of magic in front of Harry, so as to get him used to it. Harry didn't even flinch as much as the pillows moved across the room in front of him. Hermione had gone to Professor McGonagall and asked her for permission to use a private, unused classroom to help Harry out with magic. The professor doubted that Hermione could help, but she'd gotten a classroom together nonetheless.

"You're doing better every day, Harry," Hermione said proudly with a smile that lit up the entire room. "You're even getting used to magic more in class. Maybe next week we'll move onto second year spells."

"You think?" Harry asked. The thought scared him, but excited him at the same time.

Hermione nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't make you do something you weren't ready for. But I think you're nearly ready." She walked over and sat on a seat that looked so ancient he was surprised it didn't collapse… but then again, Hermione was so tiny that it was barely any weight on the seat. "Besides," she continued with a sigh, "O.W.L.s are at the end of the year, and I need to prepare you for that."

"Don't take all of this responsibility on yourself," Harry warned her. "My studying sessions with my professors are teaching me the basics that I'll need to know."

"Are they able to help you with your practical exams?" Hermione questioned.

He shook his head. "Still, though, you don't need to help me out like this if it's too much." He paused. "Why _are _you helping me?"

"You need the help," she explained as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. And it kind of was. "And I can see that you're really… hurt from what happened to you. And it's horrible that you were introduced to magic that way. I've always thought of magic as something so beautiful… I want you to see that magic the same way I see it. My desire to learn more about magic is the only thing that's keeping me here, really."

"Well… I, er… thanks," he muttered. Harry had never been very good with thanking people. He'd never had anything to really thank someone for.

"You're welcome," she said, smiling. Hermione stood up from her seat and approached the door. Her tiny hands grasped the handle and she turned around to face him. She was still smiling. "Okay, where to?" she asked. Hermione opened the door of the classroom and walked backwards outside, still facing him. "Anything goes."

. . . . .

Hermione was waiting again.

Harry was always late. She wasn't sure why, and she never asked, but he was always late. Maybe it was just a guy thing. Or maybe it was just a Harry thing.

She stood at their usual meeting place, walking around in circles. It had been about five minutes, and he still hadn't showed up. It would probably be another five minutes or so until he got there. Hermione twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers lazily.

"_Granger?_"

It wasn't Harry's voice. Harry never called her Granger, unless he was joking around with her.

Hermione turned around. It was Draco Malfoy. She froze.

"It doesn't seem like you're doing much work. You're supposed to be on your nighttime patrols, aren't you? At least, that's what _I'm _doing… I might just have to take a few Gryffindor points away for laziness…" Malfoy smirked at her.

"Please go," Hermione choked out from where she stood.

She _really _wasn't in the mood for this. Hermione wished she had guts like Harry… she wished she could just call him out and say things that had been bottled up for years. But her insecurities pulled her back and haunted her and wouldn't let her defend herself. She felt incredibly vulnerable around Malfoy, as always… she was already crumbling to pieces in front of him.

"Why don't we start to walk together, Granger? Seeing as you're not doing anything, and I can be very motivating… " Malfoy mocked. "It could be some exercise. Although, with a body like yours, I doubt you need a lot of exercise…"

His eyes traveled down her body and she shivered. Hermione certainly didn't think that his teasing would be mounting to something like this. She was wearing a t-shirt that stuck to her skin more tightly than usual, but that was because she felt more comfortable around Harry and her loose-fitting clothes made her look smaller. Hermione hadn't imagined that anyone else's eyes would be on her.

She felt like Malfoy's gaze was a microscope that could see her chest, her tiny waist, her curvy hips, her legs… Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. Tears were meeting the waterlines of her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to put on her school robes and shield her body from those piercing eyes. Hermione hadn't been determined to lose weight over the summer only to be looked at like this.

"Go, Malfoy," she told him in a shaky voice.

"You know what? I don't think I will," he said plainly. Malfoy began to take a few steps towards her and her heart began to race.

Tears fell from her eyes and met her cheeks. "Please, Malfoy," she begged.

Malfoy wouldn't stop. His footsteps were drawing closer and he was now a few inches away from her. Her heart was about to beat out of her ribcage, and her breaths were short and scattered. His hand reached out and touched her left hip.

She slapped it away. "Get away."

"You know, you're not too bad for a Mudblood…" Malfoy said. He brushed a strand of her hair away from her face. "You could prove to be useful… in some ways…"

Hermione tried to back away from him, but her footsteps only led her to a wall behind her. Malfoy was pressed against her. She was shaking from fear. What was about to happen was slowly dawning on her.

"Malfoy, please!" she pleaded. She kicked his shin, but he wouldn't move. "Malfoy – I have to go – just let me go, I won't tell anyone, I swear! Just – please –"

His hand met the hem of her shirt and his fingers slid underneath the fabric, meeting her flat stomach. "Stop!" she yelled, trying to slap his arm away, but he wouldn't budge. "Please," she repeated over and over… and over….

Hermione had never been touched like this. She felt disgusted and ugly and weak and vulnerable as his hand reached up her shirt and the tips of his fingers met her bra. No boy had ever seen her in a bra, nonetheless _touched _her bra. Her entire body turned cold and her heart pumped ice instead of blood. Hermione tried kicking some more, and she even shoved his shoulder, but Malfoy was remaining solid.

_Oh God…_

She shook as his head leaned down and he kissed her neck. "Please," she said weakly, one last time. Hermione tried to shake her way from his disgusting and terrifying embrace, but it was no use. She looked around desperately, but there was nobody there… nobody was going to save her from this…

More tears poured out of her eyes. This couldn't be happening. Things like this happened to other girls, not Hermione. She'd never thought she'd be in this situation…

His lips trailed up her neck and to her jaw, and one hand remained under her shirt while the other worked at undoing her belt. His teeth bit her neck and she shivered. Hermione kicked some more, but it was useless. He unhooked the button of her jeans and his fingers met the zipper. Hermione tried to shake away from him again, but it did nothing.

This was really happening to her…

She tried to reach for her wand, but she was stuck in her frozen position as she was touched in unspeakable ways by the most vile person that had ever existed.

"Get off of her," a voice demanded out of nowhere.

Hermione looked over Malfoy's shoulder and saw, with such immense relief that almost made her faint, Harry standing there. His fists were clenched and his eyes were narrowed on Malfoy. Even Hermione was scared for a split second. Malfoy stepped away from Hermione, leaving her shirt halfway up her body and her belt on the floor.

"Or what, Potter?" Malfoy asked.

He raised his wand at Harry. Hermione felt cold sweat meet her forehead as she watched the events unfold, still frozen against the wall.

Before Malfoy could even mutter a spell, Harry launched himself at Malfoy and landed one big punch on the side of the head. Malfoy landed on the ground in an unconscious heap with a loud _thud_. Hermione let out a breath she'd been holding during the entire ordeal. Tears stained her cheeks as they dried against her skin. Her breathing was still unsteady and shaky.

Harry stared at Malfoy's unconscious body for a moment, and then he looked straight at Hermione. His expression – that had previously been twisted by anger – softened. Hermione pulled her shirt back down and redid the button of her jeans. More than anything, in that moment, she felt embarrassed. How was she going to explain to Harry that she just let all of this happen? It was her fault for letting herself get taken advantage of like that…

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

Hermione nodded wordlessly, even though she was not okay. She could still feel Malfoy's touch on her skin; his lips against her neck and his fingers touching the material of her bra. Hermione cringed at the memory.

"We'll need to get Professor McGonagall," Harry told her. He was out of breath. He looked down at Malfoy with pure disgust.

She nodded again. Hermione couldn't even imagine what would have happened if Harry hadn't shown up. She knew that he was supposed to be there anyway, but what if he had showed up five or ten minutes later?

"He should be out cold for another few minutes," Harry continued. "We'll get McGonagall and come back."

Hermione didn't move. She felt frozen where she stood.

"Unless you want to stay here?" he asked, confused.

She shook her head and moved from her frozen position in desperation. Hermione walked over slowly to Harry's side. He didn't smile or hug her. He just began to walk. The anger in his expression had returned as they silently walked to McGonagall's office. Hermione felt as though none of this was even real. She'd never imagine Harry saving her like that. She guessed that she was supposed to thank him, but words couldn't be formed. Her thoughts just tumbled into one big panic that wondered what would have happened if Harry hadn't saved her, if Malfoy had gotten license to continue touching her like that….

"You sure you're okay?" Harry asked again.

Hermione nodded. She was lying, but she nodded anyway.

"I'm sorry I was late," he said quietly. "It will never happen again. I promise."

She nodded again. That was all she could do. She was surprised that she wasn't crying and falling into Harry's arms, thanking him for saving her. But not even tears would form anymore.

Harry was walking quickly and she had to struggle to keep up with him. She'd never seen him so determined like this. It almost scared her.

Hermione hadn't even realized they'd met McGonagall's office until Harry knocked on the door fast and hard, with urgency. "Professor!" he called out. "It's an emergency!"

"Alright!" a voice called out from behind the door, and then Professor McGonagall herself opened the door and was revealed in the doorway. She was still in her day robes, but her eyes were half open from sleepiness. "What is it?"

"Just follow me, and I'll explain," Harry said.

Hermione thought that McGonagall wouldn't take orders like that, but she did. She also kept up with Harry's fast pace as the three of them made their way back to where Malfoy would be.

"What's wrong with Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked. Her eyes were beginning to open wide at the sight of Hermione… she must've looked like a wreck…

"I think she's in shock," Harry explained.

"From what?"

"Draco Malfoy was taking advantage of her, Professor," Harry said. He looked like he was trying hard to contain his anger.

"Taking advantage – do you mean –?"

"I can't imagine what would have happened if I'd been any later," he said.

"Well, where is he?"

"I'm taking you to him. He's unconscious, I knocked him out. Take any actions you want against me, suspend me, expel me, whatever. But I want to see justice performed on him first."

They turned the corner, and there Malfoy was, lying on the floor, appearing to be sleeping.

"I'll get him to Professor Dumbledore's office and we will decide what to do with him," Professor McGonagall said in that stern voice that Hermione knew all too well. She waved her wand and Draco's unconscious form levitated four feet off the floor. She turned to face Hermione. "Are you going to be alright?"

Hermione could only nod.

McGonagall shared a knowing glance with Harry. "She's not going to say a thing, so there's no point in bringing her with me to Dumbledore's office. Stay with her, Potter."

"I want justice, I want to tell Dumbledore what he did –" Harry began to protest.

"The best thing that you can do is stay with her. She needs someone with her, she can't be alone," McGonagall explained. "Unless you'd be uncomfortable around him?"

Hermione knew that McGonagall was asking this because Harry was a boy. But Hermione trusted him. Harry wouldn't lay a hand on her like that. She shook her head.

"Take care, Miss Granger. I can assure you that Malfoy will be punished for his actions," McGonagall told her, and her voice turned soft for a moment. "If you want, you can bring her to the Hospital Wing. I'll send a note to Poppy," she told Harry in a hasty voice.

Harry nodded. His jaw was clenched as he looked over at Malfoy. McGonagall patted Hermione on the shoulder, gave her an uncommon half-smile, and left the corridor.

Harry looked over to Hermione and asked, "Did he hurt you? Physically, I mean?"

Hermione shook her head. "No," she choked out. The sound of her own voice surprised her. "He just… he just touched me… that's all…"

Admitting what had happened was completely and utterly embarrassing. She felt heat rise in her cheeks.

"Well, he's not going to do that to you anymore, okay?" Harry reassured her.

Hermione shrugged. She couldn't believe that that was the last time Malfoy would come after her like that.

"I'll make sure he doesn't lay a hand on you ever again," he said. His chest was rising and falling with his heavy breaths. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Y-Yes," she said weakly. She felt like she was collapsing right in front of Harry. "T-Thank you."

"Don't thank me," he said. He looked down the length of the corridor. "I should probably take you to the Hospital Wing."

"N-No!" Hermione protested. He looked at her strangely. "I – I don't need medicine, or a dreamless potion, or anything. I-I'll be fine."

"You're not fine," Harry told her.

He was telling the truth. She _wasn't _fine. Hermione finally nodded. She knew the way to the Hospital Wing by heart and could have led the way, but Harry knew the path as well from their nightly tours, and so he guided her there.

"You didn't deserve to be treated like that…" Harry muttered angrily. His fists were clenched tightly.

"I – I let it happen… I was too weak to defend myself. It was my fault."

Harry stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. "Don't ever say that, Hermione," he said. "It wasn't your fault. Malfoy is a rotten person and you shouldn't go off defending him."

"I wasn't d-defending him!" Hermione argued.

Harry sighed. "Okay, okay, I know… I'm just saying that you shouldn't put the blame on yourself. You couldn't have done anything. If anything, it's my fault for not showing up on time. But do _not _blame yourself."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. She desperately wanted to shower and get any trace of Malfoy off of her immediately. Harry continued to walk and she followed him.

They took the journey to the Hospital Wing in silence. Harry remained quiet, not attacking her with comforting words of how everything was going to be okay, but she wasn't expecting much, anyway. Harry just was not comforting type of person. And after their conversation a couple of weeks ago about Voldemort, she knew why. She'd learned to accept that that was just the way he was.

When they reached the Hospital Wing, Harry didn't even have a chance to knock on the door before the door whipped open and Madam Pomfrey was standing before them with watery eyes.

"Miss Granger, over here, please," she instructed. She ushered Hermione over to a bed and gave her a small vial filled with a red liquid. "It'll calm you down. Mr. Potter, you may go now."

"No," Hermione protested. "I want him to stay here… I-If that's okay with him."

Harry nodded. "Of course I'll stay." He grabbed a chair and moved it so that he could sit right beside her. She drank the red liquid; it burned her throat but she didn't complain outwardly.

"Professor McGonagall wrote a note telling me everything. It was awful, what happened to you," Madam Pomfrey said soothingly. Out of all her years at Hogwarts, Hermione had never once seen Madam Pomfrey care about her like this. It was unusual and comforting at the same time. "Let me know if you need anything."

Hermione just nodded as Madam Pomfrey walked away and back into her office. Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Hermione closed her eyes in an attempt to keep her tears at bay. She felt Harry's hand grasp her own small hand. It felt odd and wrong to be touched, so she pulled away and opened her eyes.

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

"No, I – it's nothing against you," Hermione said shakily. Her chin was trembling. "It's just…" she paused, wondering if she could tell Harry what was on her mind. And then she wondered if he would even be able to understand just what she was feeling. She took a deep breath and said, "It's like I can still feel Malfoy touching me…"

"Oh, God, Hermione," he said. His eyes widened. "I didn't know… I didn't know you still felt that way, I just… God, I'm so sorry this happened."

Hermione bit her lip. She looked up and tried to blink as quickly as she could so as to keep tears away, but it was no use. And then just like that, she broke down. Hermione began to sob. She covered her face with her hands and tears poured out of her eyes uncontrollably. Her shoulders shook from her heaving sobs and her breaths were uneven.

"I was so scared," she admitted shakily in a muffled voice.

"I know," he whispered.

She removed her hands from shielding her face and wiped her tears away. "T-Thank you."

"Like I said, no need to thank me," Harry said. He looked around. "Do you want me to leave? If he made you too uncomfortable… around guys…."

"No, no," Hermione said immediately. She might've shied away from Harry's touch, but it was only because she still felt _Malfoy's _touch there. "It's okay. I trust you." She knew that Harry wasn't going to do anything. She almost hated herself from shying away from him like that. Hermione sniffed and looked away from Harry as more tears poured out of her eyes.

"This is just so – so embarrassing," she admitted weakly. "I'm such a prude… I've never even been kissed before, and now _this_ happens…"

Harry's eyes widened at her. "You haven't had your first kiss yet?"

She shook her head. Her cheeks turned pink. "Never had a boyfriend or anything," she told him, shrugging. Hermione knew that she wouldn't have a boyfriend for a very long time, or even ever. She'd come to terms with that already.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Oh." Clearly, he'd had a fair share of kisses and possibly even girlfriends. She could believe that. After all, Harry was very handsome. He had messy black hair that was effortlessly attractive, and not to mention _those eyes_. Even if he wasn't famous, he'd still have a line of girls chasing after him.

"As if I couldn't feel anymore embarrassed," she said stupidly, sniffing and trying to keep herself composed.

"It's not embarrassing," Harry reassured her quietly. "I just thought…" He paused. "I don't know."

"You thought what?" she questioned with raised eyebrows. A part of her almost didn't want to know whatever he was thinking.

"It's nothing... I just – I just thought that since you were pretty and all, you'd have your first kiss already," Harry admitted. It was his turn to blush this time, which confused her.

"Don't be stupid, I'm not pretty, Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head. She looked back up to face him. He'd called her pretty before, and it was strange to hear her being called that a second time. He looked like he was going to retort with an argument, but she cut him off by saying, "Why do you think he did it?"

They both knew who and what she was referring to.

"Because he's an arse, simple as that," Harry said. He still looked furious. "I just… I can't shake that image out of my head."

"What image?"

"The image of him touching you like that," Harry told her. "And I remember that look in your eyes. I could tell you knew what he was going to do. And it disgusts me that he'd do something like that. It really, really does."

"He's not here, Harry, he's not going to hurt me," Hermione said. She felt compelled to be the one comforting _him _now. He looked so angry, and it frightened her to see him like that. Hermione reached out and touched his forearm. At first she wanted to pull back, but she knew that he needed to be calmed down, and this seemed like the only outlet. "Okay?"

Harry looked at her hand touching his forearm, then right at her. "Right."

"Calm down," she said calmly.

"I'm trying," he told her impatiently. "I just feel very…"

"What?"

"I just feel very protective of you, that's all," Harry mumbled.

Hermione finally felt at peace for the first time that night. Hearing him say that meant more to her than he'd ever be able to comprehend. She had never heard anyone tell her, aloud, that they were protective of her.

Maybe Harry really did care about her.

And she smiled at him, because the feeling was mutual.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Okay, what happened to Hermione was harsh and I hope I didn't offend anyone. I would never write about an _actual rape, _as this story would then have to dive into the "M" rated category. I'm not even implying that Malfoy _would _have raped her, but he was certainly starting to take advantage of her, so _please _keep that in mind. I will clear some things up in the next chapter. Again, I hope I did not offend anyone.


	15. Thank You

**Author's Note:** (This chapter's out early, since I have a day off from finals and I figured that I would treat you guys to an early update) Now, I'm not going to be that annoying author that needs to justify everything in author's notes. All I'm gonna say is that I know the last chapter was kind of harsh. I did put that warning up, although given the mood that this story has been, we all know that this isn't one of those fluffy stories with smiles and unicorns. That shit makes me vomit. I thought that I was going to meet a lot of frustration from you guys from putting out a chapter like that, but many of you were okay with it and said that it was well written, so thank you for sticking with me, I appreciate it :)

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Fifteen: Thank You_

Long after Hermione fell asleep, anger was still boiled up inside of Harry. She was turned on her side and her pretty face was facing him. Curls spread out over her shoulders and her mouth was slightly hanging open. Her torso rose and fell rhythmically with her even breaths. But even seeing the sight of someone in such a peaceful state could not calm Harry down. If anything, it angered him more, because Malfoy had _hurt _someone like this.

Harry still had that image stuck in his head of Hermione being helplessly taken advantage of by Malfoy. He remembered that look on her face when that bastard… touched her… He couldn't shake the memory of her being frozen as Harry knocked out Malfoy, her jean button undone and her shirt riding up her torso – evidence of just how far Malfoy had gotten. Hermione was afraid of Draco, and he had fed off of that fear.

Harry knew that Hermione was tormented at school, but he had been completely unaware of just how bad it was. He had no idea that someone would resort to doing something like that to Hermione. Malfoy was just toying with her, like she wasn't even _human_. Harry wasn't sure if the bastard was planning on going as far as taking her virginity unwillingly from her, but he at least knew that what Malfoy had done already was enough damage. Hermione had told him – in deep confidence, he was sure – that she'd never even had her first kiss. Someone so pure didn't deserve that treatment.

She was so pretty, and so nice, and so amazing. Harry hadn't known, when he'd first met her, that Hermione would be the first student here that he'd willingly tell about Voldemort. He hadn't known that she'd be the one to drive him towards performing magic on his own. And he certainly hadn't known that he'd feel so protective of her.

What had happened to Hermione was a sign of just how badly she was treated here. And it sickened Harry. She had nobody at Hogwarts to protect her. She was treated as though she had no value, like she wasn't a person. And every time he thought back on the incident, it made him realize just how horrible his own torments had been onto his victims back in his Muggle school. And each time, it made him sick with guilt.

Harry looked over at her sleeping form. She looked so peaceful. If only she could seem that way when she was awake now. In that moment, he decided that he'd protect her from further torments. Both he and Hermione knew their presence in school hours when other people around kept an unspoken distance between them, but he was willing to break through that barrier if it meant that nothing like this ever happened to Hermione again. So what if people teased him for hanging out with Hermione Granger? When had he ever given a crap what people thought of him in the first place? They'd probably become too scared to even look at Hermione the wrong way, and that was just what he wanted.

He rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted as hell – when _wasn't_ he? – but he wasn't going to fall asleep, even if the hospital bed beside Hermione's seemed comfortable and her peaceful slumber influenced him to get some of his own sleep. He knew what he would encounter if he gave into sleep. And besides, he was afraid of waking up screaming – like he did nearly every night – and scaring Hermione.

"Hello, Potter," a voice called out from the other end of the Hospital Wing.

Harry turned his head around and saw Professor McGonagall walking across the Wing to Harry.

"'Lo, Professor," Harry said lazily, rubbing his eyes once more. Then he snapped to attention. His eyes widened. _McGonagall! _"Where's the bastard?"

"I'm assuming that you are referring to Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said calmly. She took a chair and set it beside Harry, then sat down. "He is currently waiting in my office, however Professor Dumbledore will be taking him to his office momentarily before we get there. You see, I was hoping that I could get an account of what happened by Miss Granger, just to be clear of the details."

Harry looked back at Hermione. He didn't want to disturb her. "Can't I just tell you what happened?" he offered.

"Were you there for the entire incident?"

"No…" Harry said guiltily. He swallowed hard. "I was too late."

"Then I'll need Miss Granger. I do believe her, trust me, I do, and I don't think you two are lying about what happened. But I need to know how Mr. Malfoy got to her and whatnot," McGonagall explained somberly. Even she looked regrettable when looking upon Hermione sleeping. "So, can I please speak to her?"

"Can it wait until morning?" Harry asked as a last ditch chance to have Hermione still asleep.

"I'd rather get things settled before Mr. Malfoy's parents are formally informed of the situation," McGonagall said professionally. "I'm afraid that we might meet some resistance when they learn of Draco being punished for his actions. So it's best to get this out of the way as soon as possible."

Just thinking of Draco's parents – one of them being a Death Eater – angered Harry more. But he nodded, understanding what he had to do. He leaned over and tapped Hermione's shoulder.

"Hermione?"

No answer.

He gently shook her shoulder. "Hermione, wake up," he said softly.

Hermione's head tilted to the side and her eyelids fluttered open. She looked disorientated for a moment, and then she said, "Harry?" in a barely coherent, sleepy voice. She stretched out her arms and closed her eyes again. It was kind of cute.

"Yeah, it's me," Harry said, smiling a little. "We're going to McGonagall's office and then you can tell her what happened, okay?"

Hermione's chocolate brown eyes opened wider, to an actual alert state. "What? Why now?"

"Because Draco's parents will be pissed when they find out that he's being punished," Harry explained.

Hermione sighed and furrowed her brows together. "Are you going with me?" she asked.

Harry looked up at Professor McGonagall, who nodded. He smiled. "Yes."

She stiffened and then sat up. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, swinging over to the side a bit from her sleepiness.

"This is very brave of you, to tell what happened," McGonagall told her as they walked across the Wing and then soon excited it. "And, again, I'm so sorry that Mr. Malfoy felt it necessary to take advantage of you. I assure you he won't go without punishment."

Hermione just nodded. She kept close to Harry's side, and he wanted to say something comforting, but he couldn't think of just what to say. Living with the Dursleys made him not ever have to say anything comforting… he wasn't sure what to say or how to act when he actually _cared_ about someone, primarily because he never really cared about someone this much up until now. It was just one more horrific side effect that resulted from him living under the roof of Number Four, Privet Drive.

"Will he be there?" Hermione asked weakly. They all knew by "he" they meant Draco.

"Professor Dumbledore has taken him into his office by now," McGonagall reassured her. "I wanted us to stay in my office instead of the Hospital Wing so that we weren't overheard by anyone else."

They reached her office and Professor McGonagall paused. "I'll talk to her privately for a moment just to know exactly how badly Mr. Malfoy took advantage," she explained to Harry. "Then we'll have you back inside. Is that okay, Hermione?"

Hermione hesitated, looking from Harry to the professor and back again, and then nodded. Harry could see that she was desperately trying to keep herself composed. In fact, she was actually doing very well… better than he'd expected. Harry leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I'll be right there." She nodded, smiled weakly, and followed the professor into her office.

The next few minutes were the longest minutes of Harry's life. He leaned against the wall beside the door, desperate to see Hermione again and see if she was okay. He wondered exactly what the two of them were talking about behind that door, but at the same time he didn't even want to know. Harry had seen the result of what Draco had done, but he wasn't sure of just what happened before that. Hermione's previously untouched body had enough, by the looks of it. His stomach twisted into a knot and something got caught in his throat.

The door opened, and his twisted stomach leaped. He turned around immediately and saw Professor McGonagall looking more stern than ever. Her mouth was in a firm line that was on the verge of completely disappearing from her face.

"Come in, Potter," she said in a low voice.

Harry immediately followed her and took the empty seat beside Hermione. He looked over at her and saw that she was turned away from him.

"I've heard enough," Professor McGonagall declared. "Now that I know exactly what happened, I'll know what to do with him. And I can assure you, once again, that Mr. Malfoy _will _be punished for what he's done."

"Is he still in Dumbledore's office?" Harry asked angrily.

He regretted just punching Malfoy on the side of the head without inflicting true, horrible pain first. But in that moment, all Harry had wanted was to get Malfoy unconscious immediately so he wouldn't go near Hermione again.

"Yes," the professor replied, "and I'll go speak to him now."

Harry stood up and said, "I want to go with you."

"I'd recommend that you stay with Miss Granger, perhaps bring her back to the Hospital Wing. And _you _need some sleep as well, Potter."

"I'm fine, I'm not tired," Harry lied. He looked at Hermione, who was still turned away from him. A part of Harry guessed that she was embarrassed, but really he wished that she didn't feel that way around him. "Are you sure I can't go and see Malfoy?"

"Potter, I'm afraid of what might happen if you see him. And if you lay another hand on him, Mr. Malfoy's parents will do everything in their power to turn the tables on you. So, please, for yours and Hermione's sakes, let Professor Dumbledore and I handle this," McGonagall told him firmly. "I understand your anger, believe me, I do. Just try to wait everything out."

Harry sat there, trying his best to not make a run for it and find Malfoy and inflict the pain on him that the bastard truly deserved.

The professor stood up and walked over to Hermione and whispered something in her ear that Harry couldn't hear. Hermione nodded. McGonagall opened the door and both Harry and Hermione walked out together… Hermione still wasn't looking at him. The professor bid them farewell, reminded Harry to stay calm, and then left.

"You okay?" Harry asked when McGonagall was out of sight.

Hermione turned her head so that he could just see her profile. Her eyes were looking straight ahead of her. She nodded. "I'm fine," she said, even though her voice cracked. She looked down at the floor.

"Do you want to go back to the Hospital Wing?" he offered. "You look like you need some more sleep, and Madam Pomfrey could give you some more potion to calm your nerves."

Hermione shrugged. She was still purposely avoiding his gaze.

"Why won't you look at me?" Harry finally asked. It hurt him to ask that question.

At his words, Hermione finally did what she'd been avoiding, and turned to face him. There were tear stains on her flushed cheeks and her brown eyes swam in sadness. She looked tragically beautiful.

"It's… it's nothing against you, Harry," she reassured him. "This whole thing is just… so… _embarrassing_. And I want it to be over and done with. I just want to wake up from this nightmare."

Harry's heart crumbled just from hearing her say that. "Don't be embarrassed," he told her. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. None of this is your fault."

She shrugged again. He knew that Hermione looked weak and fragile, but she had a surprising amount of stubbornness within her… and with that stubbornness, she was still going to blame herself for what had happened, for letting Malfoy get that far.

"Harry, can I ask you something?" she asked quietly.

Harry nodded. "Of course."

"It seems kind of stupid to ask, but…" Hermione coughed. "What do you think he would've done, if you didn't show up?" Her voice was shaking.

Harry's entire body turned cold. He didn't even want to really think about this right now. "I don't know. I guess he did just enough to think he was going to get away with it," Harry told her honestly. "If what people say about him is true, then I know that he does enough to do some damage, but not enough that gets him in _huge_ trouble. And so I'm not sure if he'd go as far as… you know…." His words hung in the air between them.

"That's what I thought also," she said, letting out a sigh. She cleared her throat and then changed the subject of their conversation. "Let's go to the Hospital Wing. There are showers there, and I desperately need one."

"You don't smell, y'know."

She almost let out a half-laugh. "No, no, I just… I just feel disgusting, that's all," she explained, shivering. "From Malfoy's touch," she added in a near whisper.

A rush of understanding washed over him. He nodded and began to lead the way to the Wing, even though Hermione knew the path even better than him. Harry waited, standing by the bed that she'd sleep in as she took off to the showers. Twenty minutes later, Hermione emerged from the back room with damp hair and clean clothes that Madam Pomfrey must have given her. Her school robes had been brought to her bedside, probably to change into for the next day.

There was a small smile on her face when she saw him.

"I feel a little bit better now," she told him.

The way Harry felt when he saw her smiling like that was indescribable. After a huge ordeal that night, it was nice to see her finally smile. Her pretty face looked the same as it had before – just without the tear marks on her cheeks – confirming that she really didn't wear any makeup. And Harry was glad about that; she didn't need it at all.

"Good."

Hermione crawled into the hospital bed and Harry pulled the sheets over her. "My mum used to tuck me in like that when I was little, right after she'd read me a story," Hermione said, letting out a small chuckle.

Harry had never been "tucked in" before, nor had he been read a story – when did Aunt Petunia ever give a crap? – but he could only imagine how comforting it must've felt.

"Oh, sorry," Hermione said immediately.

"What?"

"I – er –" she began awkwardly, "Sorry for mentioning my mum, because, you know –"

Harry shook his head and said calmly, "No, don't worry about it, it's fine."

Hermione must have thought that he was sensitive about being an orphan, but in all honesty, he never really thought about it all that much. Thinking about it would've made him soft, and while living under the Dursleys' roof, that would've gotten him killed.

"You don't talk about your family," Hermione observed as she turned over to her side to face Harry, still bound beneath the sheets. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him quizzically, like she was trying to figure him out just by looking at him. "I don't know one thing about the people who raised you."

"I think you're better off that way," Harry told her in all honesty.

"But –"

"Get some rest, Hermione," he said soothingly. "It's been a long day."

Hermione sighed and turned around to lie on her back and face the ceiling. "One day, will you tell me about them?" she asked sadly, not looking at him.

"Maybe." Although it wasn't likely. He had never before explained what went on in his household. He wasn't even sure where he'd start.

"Alright," she said, content with his reply. She turned her head to face him. "Are you going to go to sleep soon?"

"I guess."

"Well, sweet dreams, for when you do," she said. There was a deeper meaning to this, considering the fact that she knew about his nightmares about Voldemort. "Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Hermione."

"And Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks," she said sincerely. "You know, for everything."

Harry smiled at her. "No need to thank me."

Hermione gave a small smile back and closed her eyes. Almost immediately, he heard her breathing slow down into that familiar rhythm. Harry took the bunched up privacy curtains beside her bed and pulled them around her entire hospital bed, so that nobody would know she was there. The last thing he wanted for her was for rumors to circulate as to why she was in the Hospital Wing.

He fought to stay awake. Not only did he fear his nightmares, but he wanted to make sure that nobody hurt Hermione when she was asleep.

And so he waited.

It had been a painful few hours, and he hadn't even realized how close they were to morning until the sun rose not too shortly after Hermione had fallen asleep. His eyelids had kept shutting out the rest of the world from him, and he struggled to keep them open and alert. A few times he was nearing sleep, but he shook himself awake, desperate to keep his distance from falling asleep.

And Harry not only fought to stay awake, but he fought to not go over to Dumbledore's office, figure out the damn password to get, and beat the shit out of Draco Malfoy. But the warning from Professor McGonagall was still fresh in his mind, and he knew that he had to control himself for Hermione's sake. If he went after Malfoy, then the bastard's parents would fight back and use Harry's aggravation towards Draco to fuel their fire.

Hermione had been getting better towards the end of the ordeal, at least. Her tears had stopped and given the fact that she'd asked about his family, she wanted to get the incident out of her mind and change the subject. The girl was stronger than Harry had expected… maybe her years of torment were finally making her a stronger person.

Suddenly, the curtains around Hermione's hospital bed moved over, and he jumped.

"Harry?" Hermione asked in a quiet, lazy-sounding voice as she gripped the edge of the curtains. She rubbed her brown eyes and stretched her arms.

"G'morning," he said, sounding just as tired as her.

"Did you sleep?"

"No," he answered honestly.

"Oh, Harry, you need some sleep!" Hermione said, becoming more awake with every word she spoke.

"I'll be fine," he lied. He stood up and swayed slightly from where he stood. Hermione rolled her eyes at him, but didn't say anything more on that matter.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Well… I'm hungry," Hermione complained, grabbing her tiny stomach.

"I can go and get food for us from the Great Hall and then bring it back," Harry offered.

Hermione looked like she was considering this, but she shook her head. "No, I can go there. I'm sure that Professor McGonagall won't let Malfoy hang around in classes today. I don't think she'd do something like that."

"There's only one way to find out," Harry said.

"I suppose," she said with a sigh. "Well, you can head out first and I'll leave a few minutes later, since I have to get changed, anyway."

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows. "We can't go together?"

Hermione looked just as confused as him. "Harry, it's daytime, there will be people around…" she trailed off awkwardly. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the floor.

"I don't care," he told her honestly. He handed her school robes to her. "Get changed, and we'll go together."

Hermione fell into some sort of trance and looked into more confused, but she took the clothes and wrapped the curtain around the bed once more. A few minutes later, the curtain was pulled back and Hermione was fully dressed in her school robes. She still looked confused.

"You sure you want to go to class today?" Harry asked one more time before they left.

"Mhmm," Hermione said in a pitch higher than her normal voice. "I'll be fine, Harry."

"When you want to leave, just let me know."

"Okay, Harry."

"Honestly, just tell me, and we'll leave."

"Okay."

"You sure?"

Hermione stood on her tiptoes, leaned forward, and placed a kiss on his cheek. Harry felt heat rush to the spot where her lips had met his skin. "Yes," she whispered. Her breath swirled right into his ear, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand and the temperature of the room ten degrees hotter.

Harry certainly hadn't been expecting _that_, especially after what happened the night before, but maybe it was one of those moves girls pulled out of thin air to shut a guy up. He'd seen that shit in Aunt Petunia's soap operas and even at his old Muggle school.

It now looked like _Harry _was the one in a trance, but it was quite different from the one Hermione was in.

Hermione stood back at her normal height and backed up to keep her distance. She looked sort of embarrassed, biting her lip and sporting a bright pink flush to her cheeks.

"Let's go," she said.

She gestured for him to follow her. Hermione flipped her hair over her shoulder… had she done something different with her hair? Harry followed her, pretty sure that he was now more confused than _her_.

"You don't think anyone else knows, do you?" she asked, suddenly becoming serious again as they walked down the many corridors that would lead them to the Great Hall. A few passerby stopped to look at them strangely.

"No, Malfoy's probably been kept under supervision so he wouldn't be able to tell anyone, and McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Madam Pomfrey won't say a word to the students," Harry reassured her. He patted her on the back, and she didn't shy away from his touch. "You're handling this pretty well."

Hermione shrugged and bit her lip again. She looked _really_ cute when she did that. "I'm trying my best," she said quietly, briefly looking down at the floor. "It just feels better when I'm not thinking about it, you know?"

Harry nodded in agreement. He'd spent his entire life not thinking about the shitty things that went on around him. He understood exactly how that felt.

The doors of the Great Hall were already open for students. People stared at them strangely and whispered behind their hands, but Harry ignored it. Hermione looked like she was somewhat coping, although she crossed her arms over her chest, which was something, Harry noticed, that she did whenever she felt insecure or nervous. He didn't ever want her to feel that way.

Someone shouted, "Potter and _Granger_?", but they acted like they didn't hear it. It was better that way. The two of them entered the Great Hall and took seats together at the Gryffindor table. Hermione gave him a questioning look… she must have expected them to walk together, but not _sit _together.

Harry looked around, and saw – with immense relief – that Malfoy was not there. His two goons, God knew their names, were sitting there expectantly, looking dumber than ever as they tried to figure out where their leader had gone. He pointed out Malfoy's presence to Hermione and she let out a sigh of relief.

Harry ate a filling, rather unhealthy breakfast with sweets and things that Dudley often stuffed himself with. He loved eating huge meals, especially since he did not get that kind of luxury back at Privet Drive. He still hadn't gained any weight from eating these huge meals, though… he'd never been heavy in his life, but over the years of running from Dudley, dodging punches, and then giving out his own punches, he'd developed lean muscle.

Meanwhile, Hermione was opting for healthy foods that Dudley was _supposed_ to eat on his diet but never actually ate. Harry was fascinated by how disturbing healthy all of the things she ate were.

"How can you do that?" he asked.

"Do what?" she asked, biting into an apple.

"Eat healthy?" He looked around… not many of the other teenagers around him were eating like that.

"Oh, well, I was focused on losing weight over the summer, and the habits have kind of stuck with me," she explained with a shrug.

Harry wondered what would make her think she needed to improve herself. He didn't know what she'd look like beforehand, but he was certain she must've looked just as pretty. Why were girls so obsessed with their weight?

"Er, Harry?" Ron's voice asked suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. Harry jumped.

He turned to face his friend. "Oh, hey, Ron," he greeted, smiling. He could feel Hermione shrinking next to him. "Want to sit with us?"

Ron looked at Hermione, then Harry, then back at Hermione. "Er, I – I guess," he said awkwardly, slowly taking a seat beside Harry. "What's going on?" he whispered.

"What do you mean?" Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"I _mean_, Harry, why are you sitting next to _Hermione Granger_?" Ron whispered back.

"We're friends," Harry said. Then he leaned towards Ron and whispered a threat, "Be. Nice."

Ron looked a little peeved and also extremely confused. "But how do you two even know each other?"

"Hermione's been giving me tours of the school at night during her normal nightly patrols," Harry explained casually. "And she's my friend now, so you'll have to respect that."

Ron looked around at the other students, who were clearly making up their own rumors and jumping to their own conclusions. "This is so weird, mate," he noted, raising his eyebrows at the two of them. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry gestured to the whispering students around them. "_That's _why."

"Hey, I, er, think I'll go by Dean. I haven't had properly talked to the bloke in a few days, so…." Ron awkwardly stood up and left the two to themselves.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said after Ron had left. She was staring at the half-bitten peach in her hand, twisting around with her thin fingers. "My presence here is interfering…"

"Don't worry about it," Harry told her honestly. "Ron's just a little confused, he'll come around."

Hermione nodded. "Right."

She looked more insecure than ever. A few people walked past and looked like they were going to say something, but Harry glared at them, and they moved on silently.

To ease the tension, Harry took the peach from her. It already had a few bite marks in it, but he didn't care. He put it close to his mouth, acting like he was going to eat it.

"Oi, Potter!" she squealed, taking it back. She slapped his arm playfully.

Harry clutched his arm and acted like she'd really hurt him. "Ouch, Granger."

"Oh, shut it, you wimp," Hermione said with a small giggle that made his stomach flip.

And the stomach flipping was not because of what he ate...

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you for reading! Let me know what you guys think. I'll be done with finals on Monday and then I'll finally be a junior! I have a couple of stories planned so hopefully I can start working really hard on those during the summer :) Again, thanks for reading!


	16. Hermione Cares

**Author's Note:** Okay so this chapter is a liiiittle bit shorter than my other chapters, but Harry takes his shirt off in this one, so I guess it all equals out in the end.

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Sixteen: Hermione Cares_

Even though she was leaving Professor McGonagall's office with tears in her eyes before meeting up with Harry, and even though she felt like she desperately needed to take a shower and she felt disgusting, Hermione Granger was on a mission.

She thirsted to know about Harry's family and what made him the way he was. Voldemort aside, Harry had dealt with cruelty all his life, if her theories were correct.

It was a couple of nights after the incident by now. The night before, Harry had to miss their guided tour completely because the Minister of Magic personally visited him and Dumbledore for a meeting. Harry had confessed to Hermione that he was nervous about it all. Since they had spent the last two days together, she missed him. And especially since she'd just had her own meeting – with McGonagall and Malfoy – she wanted to see him as soon as possible.

Her meeting had consisted of McGonagall threatening expulsion onto Malfoy. Malfoy threatened back to get his parents involved. But for the meantime, he was moved to a completely different schedule than Hermione's, was not allowed fifty feet near her, and was banned from all out-of-class activities. McGonagall issued a Charm that would alert her if Malfoy was near Hermione. Also, if there was any hint that Malfoy was near another girl without their consent, McGonagall claimed that he wouldn't even have time to threaten to get his parents before he was expelled.

McGonagall's actions made Hermione appreciate the professor in ways that McGonagall could never possibly understand.

After the incident, Hermione had suddenly been very aware of every boy around her. They were all too close. The only boy she was comfortable with was Harry. Perhaps it was because she knew the type of person he was before the incident, or because he was protectively glaring at everyone that went near her. Hermione had never been protected like this before. It made her truly believe that Harry cared about her. Sure, she supposed that Neville cared about her, too, but around Harry, it was just different. In the last two days, Hermione had turned from being a victim of torments, to having Harry around and not hearing one negative thing about her from nearby snickering students.

"Hermione!" Harry said when she turned to the corner to get to their meeting spot.

Harry had made sure that he was early to their tours after what had happened. It was sweet of him. She missed him.

"What's wrong?" he asked. She must've looked horrible.

"I had that meeting with McGonagall," Hermione began to explain.

Harry's eyes widened. "What did he get?"

"His schedule's different from mine, and he's not allowed fifty feet near me or to be in other activities like Quidditch. McGonagall set up a Charm that will alert her if he's by me," Hermione announced. "She's warned all the other teachers about him, too. And if he even tries to go near a girl like that, and McGonagall gets word of it, then she won't think twice about expulsion."

She wiped her eyes. It seemed stupid to be crying when she told him such happy news, but she couldn't help it. The tears were falling of their own accord because of the fact that she'd been in the same room as Draco Malfoy.

"Well, I would've like expulsion immediately… but still, that's good enough. He won't even be able to look at you," Harry said, smiling. She loved seeing him smile; it was a rare feat of his. Behind that smile, she could see anger, because he would have liked Malfoy to get expelled. Hermione had a feeling that Harry wasn't done fighting this just yet.

Hermione nodded, giving him a small, sad smile.

"Then what's wrong?" he continued.

She shrugged. "Malfoy was there, at the meeting, too."

"Did he do anything?" was Harry's first question. His eyes were wide with alarm.

"McGonagall was there," Hermione said as an answer. "So he couldn't do anything."

"I mean, did he make you uncomfortable?"

Hermione shrugged. "Just his presence makes me uncomfortable," she admitted in a low voice.

"Oh, God."

Harry looked like he was going to walk towards her, but he refrained. She wasn't afraid of contact with him. That first night, she shied away from him only because she could barely stand any contact whatsoever, regardless of from whom… she might've even shied away from her mother's touch in that moment. But the next day, she had kissed Harry on the cheek, proving to her and to him that she wasn't afraid to touch him. Just thinking about the memory conjured butterflies in her stomach. Hermione had never kissed a boy on the cheek before. Pretty girls in movies always did things like that. It kind of made her feel… confident.

"It's okay," she said, sniffling. "Shall we go?"

Harry slowly nodded. He kept his wary gaze on her as they began to walk. "Well, at least he won't be near you again."

Hermione nodded. Knowing that she wouldn't have to face him anymore was almost too good to be true. A part of her wondered if Malfoy's punishments would have been that way if she and Harry had never met. Perhaps Professor McGonagall was paying more attention to her now that Harry Potter was getting involved. Hermione never wanted to be the one to draw conclusions too soon, but the whole situation was a little sketchy. Had she never meant something before, but now that she was friends with Harry Potter, she suddenly mattered?

"How did your own meeting go yesterday?" Hermione asked, desperate to change the subject.

There were arguments and speculations going about, and the Minister had wanted to "clear things up" with Harry and Dumbledore. She'd never really trusted politicians. Fudge must have had some kind of plan.

"I'm not getting expelled," Harry said casually, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Well, what did you tell him?" Hermione asked curiously.

Harry had told Hermione that alerting the public of Voldemort's return was not something Dumbledore wanted to do just yet. Voldemort might panic from being found out and begin his plans – God knew how awful they were to be – sooner. As long as Voldemort didn't take any severe actions and kept himself in the dark, then nobody would be hurt just yet. The bastard wasn't stupid. He'd lay low. Meanwhile the organization that was helping the anti-Voldemort cause – Harry hadn't mentioned its name yet – was working tirelessly to secretly bring in people to their side. They only had a short amount of time before Voldemort started recruiting people himself.

"We told him that I performed magic accidentally, which is typical," he told her. "And then I got scared and ran off, and then Dumbledore found me because Arabella Figg – a Squib, is that what they're called? – reported me missing. She lives on my street. Technically none of that was illegal… I learned about magic just by performing it myself, and it happens to kids before they go to Hogwarts all the time." He shrugged. "Fudge didn't appreciate me 'running off', but I guess he lets that shit go since I'm Harry Potter. Being famous does have its perks, I suppose."

Hermione smiled. "And he believed all of it?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Although at first it almost looked like he wasn't going to believe me, and he accused Dumbledore of breaking the law by informing me of magic, but he eventually came around. I think he was just relieved that Dumbledore hadn't spewed things about Voldemort returning. That was probably Fudge's biggest fear."

Hermione felt relieved. Fudge bought it. Maybe he didn't fully believe in it, but it was a simple solution and he probably wanted to take the easy way out. He couldn't snag Dumbledore on law-breaking, since technically – and Hermione was always amazed at the loopholes Dumbledore managed to sneak through – none of it was illegal.

"Er, do you want to start up tutoring again?" Hermione asked.

They'd stopped with helping Harry with magic for the past couple of days because of the incident with Malfoy, which was understandable. Other things had been on their minds.

"Before my meeting with Fudge, I had a tutoring session with Flitwick," Harry told her exhaustedly. "I'm worn out."

"You're a wimp, Potter," Hermione commented. She elbowed him. This was kind of fun. She felt the discomfort from her meeting with McGonagall and Malfoy wearing away when she was with Harry.

"Oi," Harry warned with a smirk, gingerly touching the part of his arm that she had elbowed.

"I guess we'll let it slide this time…" she said dramatically. "I kind of want a normal night, anyway."

"Understandable."

They walked together in a comfortable silence, both being lost in their own thoughts. Hermione twirled her strand of hair around her fingers nervously.

"Did the Minister question why your relatives gave you permission?" she muttered, breaking the silence. Her desperation for knowing about Harry's homelife was tugging at her heart.

"Yeah," Harry said, looking down at the floor as they walked in unison. "We told him that my uncle just gave up since when I returned to get my things, I told him that I knew about magic. There's no evidence to prove otherwise, and it's not like my uncle will say anything anyway. He hates magic. That's why he kept me away from it for all these years."

"What's he like?" Hermione asked, although this man's hatred for magic already gave her a picture of his character.

"Hermione," Harry said with a sigh as though she was a child to be ridiculed.

"Oh, come on," she pleaded softly. She bit her bottom lip. "Why don't you talk about it?"

"It's just better off for you to not know," he told her, rubbing his eyes. "I don't want my past to be a burden."

"It won't be a burden," she reassured him. "You can tell me all about Voldemort, but you can't even say a word about your relatives?"

"Look, it's not that I don't trust you…" He paused, his bright green eyes focused on her brown ones. "I _do_ trust you. And believe me, I'm bursting to tell you everything, but I'm not sure how you'd react."

Hermione hesitated. So he did want to tell her, but he was wary of what her reaction would be.

"What if I tell you about my family first?" Hermione compromised. After being reassured by Harry that he was okay with her mentioning parents, even though he was an orphan, she was sure that telling him all of this was okay. "I can tell you about my parents. And then we'll be even."

"Hermione –"

"Their names are Carl and Jane. They're both dentists. They work super long shifts and they're barely home," Hermione began, ignoring his protest. "Pretty much the one time I see them is at dinner. My mum's an amazing cook, but my dad can't even microwave something without risking a house fire."

Harry stopped protesting, and he just stood there, staring at her. She continued.

"I get these pep talks all the time from them, about how I should be confident and find better friends. I've never told my mum about how badly I've been tormented here. I haven't even told her about the incident with Malfoy yet. I love her to death, trust me, but there's this distance between us that I can't seem to break through. She takes me on shopping trips and buys all these clothes and tons of makeup, but I never use any of it. I feel guilty about it all, but I just can't become someone I'm not."

Hermione took a deep breath and saw that Harry was still looking at her. He looked deeply interested now in what she had to say.

"My dad and I always have these intellectual conversations at dinner. He doesn't really like to talk about magic much, but he's still proud of me. In fact he gushes over my academic success so much that I don't even remember the last time I had a _normal _conversation with him," Hermione said breathlessly. She'd never even said this much to Neville, but here she was, telling Harry all about her parents.

There was a silence that lasted for a few short moments as they looked back at each other, and then Harry said, "Wow."

"What?"

"Well, I just…" Harry began awkwardly, looking like he wasn't sure what to say exactly. "I guess I just thought you came from a perfect family," he mumbled.

"There's no such thing as a perfect family, Harry," Hermione told him.

What _had _he expected? That she came skipping through her house's doors and her parents greeted her happily and had hours of time to spend with her?

"I guess," he replied quietly.

"Will you tell me about your family?" she asked gently.

Harry exhaled and put his hands in his pockets. "My aunt, Petunia Dursley, is my mum's sister. She's married to my uncle Vernon, and they have a son named Dudley, who's around our age," he began slowly. His brows furrowed in a look of deep concentration. "Are you sure you want to know?" he asked. "I'm just warning you now…"

Hermione nodded, willing him to go on. Harry ran his fingers through his messy hair.

"I wish there was a way to sugarcoat this, but to be completely honest, they didn't – and still don't – give a shit about me. I never grew up with any love. I cooked a lot of their meals and… and they kept me locked in a cupboard."

"They _what_?" Hermione asked in horror. Her hands covered her mouth and tears welled up in her eyes.

"I warned you," he said with caution.

"I – I know," she choked out. She was shaking. Thoughts of just what happened to him horrified her. How could anyone be so cruel as to lock someone in a _cupboard_? "I know that you warned me…."

"I shouldn't have told you," he said regrettably. Harry rubbed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

"It's fine," she muttered. "Continue, Harry. It's fine, I'll be fine." Hermione sniffed and wiped her eyes. She needed to stay strong and keep her composure for Harry's sake. He wanted to get this off his chest and she wasn't helping by showing just how bad the situation was. There was no doubt that Harry already knew just how bad it was.

"Right," he said, clearing his throat. "They… God, I don't even know how to say this… they used me as a punching bag, I guess you could say. Left a few scars behind in the process."

Hermione batted her eyes quickly, desperate to keep tears away. "God, Harry…" she said in a near whisper.

Harry had suffered through domestic abuse. What Hermione had feared was the truth was _actually _true. It disgusted her how his relatives could've just gotten away with it all… gotten away with hurting _Harry_. Nobody deserved that sort of treatment, especially Harry.

Her heart broke into a million pieces when she saw him looking away from her, almost appearing to be embarrassed. He ran his fingers through his hair.

Hermione rushed up to him and hugged him. She knew that he wasn't the type of person to give and receive hugs, but she felt like that was the only thing that she could do, the only way to let him know that she was there. Harry had spent his whole life with nobody there for him, and now he had Hermione, and she wanted him to be aware of that.

At first Harry began to shy away from her touch, but he eventually returned the hug, wrapped his arms around her thin frame. She leaned against him. He smelled so… Harry-ish. She wasn't even sure how to describe his scent, but she absolutely loved it. A few stray tears escaped her eyes and made little microscopic puddles in the fabric of his loose t-shirt. She lifted her hair to touch his chest gingerly; it rose and fell with the pattern of his heavy breaths.

"Does that hurt?" Hermione whispered. Her eyebrows furrowed together.

"Not really."

She sighed. "Well, where did they hurt you?"

"I'll show you," he whispered back. Hermione took a step back from him, regretfully leaving his comfortable embrace.

Harry grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing the side effects of living with his awful relatives. Hermione covered her mouth with her hands and gasped. There were bruises and scars taking over enough of his torso to make her want to cry even harder. Harry dropped his shirt to the floor and ran his fingers through his hair for what must have been the tenth time that night.

All this time, he sported these injuries, and nobody else knew. There was a cut running the length of his torso, from his right shoulder to his lower stomach. She walked back towards him again, taking a deep breath. Hermione reached out and gently traced the scar with her thin fingers.

"Where's this one from?" she asked quietly.

"A belt," he replied shortly.

Hermione swallowed. "And this?" she asked after her hand reached a nearby bruise.

"Just a punch," he said, shrugging. He was so nonchalant about it, and it broke her heart again to see him that way.

"This?" she asked for a third time, this time around referring to a burn mark near his shoulder.

Harry winced. "Dudley gave me that burn because I beat up his mate."

Hermione continued, tracing her fingers over his various injuries and learning the history of them. She was sucking the poison out of Harry's life with every little detail she reached. Hermione wondered how long he had been bursting to tell someone all of this. He must have gone to school every day, desperate to tell someone what was going on, _bursting _to reveal what really happened when he returned home, but he never actually uttered the truth to a single soul. She didn't know if he had had friends back at home, but if he had, he hadn't shown it. Maybe they just weren't his true friends. She needed him to know that _she _was his true friend.

She eventually got to his back, where there were some cuts. Hermione's thin fingers traced the back of his broad shoulder. "Where's this from?" Although she was just inches away from him, her shaky voice was barely audible by now.

"Glass," he replied in a rough, low voice.

Hermione stiffened and tears began to meet her eyes once more. Small droplets fell from her waterline and cascaded down her cheeks. She took a step forward and wrapped her arms around his trim waist, her hands meeting his lower stomach. She felt Harry's body stiffen, but he didn't move away. Hermione leaned forward and kissed his skin right between his shoulder blades. Harry was surprisingly solid; she'd thought he'd be scrawnier than what he actually was. There was plenty of lean muscle that framed his figure.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she whispered, parting her lips and resting her forehead on his upper back.

She closed her eyes and she could feel his breaths and hear his racing pulse. Her falling tears met his warm skin. She was practically shaking.

"It's not your fault," he whispered back.

Hermione felt Harry's hands hold her own, right against his stomach. She sighed into his skin. His hands were so soft. Hermione felt like she could stay here forever, like this, right against Harry's body and breathing in the same tempo as him. There was a comfortable silence between them. She saw Harry's head turned downward, facing their intertwined hands. Hermione didn't know what perfection was until she experienced this moment. Her tears dried against his skin as new silent tears poured out and took their place.

"Why did you become a bully?" Hermione choked. Her lips grazed his skin as she spoke.

Harry shivered. "I was sick of being Dudley's punching bag, so I felt like I needed to prove to him that I could stand up for myself," he said quietly. "I stopped being the victim and became the bully. It was all useless, really… it didn't stop Dudley from trying to beat me up back home. I'm sorry I did those things, Hermione, I feel horrible when I think about it now."

"You don't need to apologize to me," she replied in a soft voice.

She felt Harry shrug. "I'm not that person anymore, you know that, right?"

"Of course I do," she whispered in reply.

The two fell into another comfortable silence. Harry was so _alive_ next to her… she could feel his breaths and hear his heartbeat and smell his scent. He was perfect and yet flawed. Hermione kept her eyes closed, not wanting to ever let go of him. Her heart raced just thinking about how close the two were, their bodies touching.

And then breaking the silence, Harry whispered, in a low, rough voice, "Thank you."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I know that you're thinking right now, "Caitlyn, Harry did not get that physically abused!", to which I'll have to respond: This is AU. And besides, Harry spent four more years under the Dursleys' roof than in canon, and I honestly think that their mistreatment might have escalated to this. Please don't be offended by domestic abuse and whatnot. I don't feel like I should be putting up warnings before every chapter, though. You guys know what's up at this point. And as always, thanks for reading! :)


	17. We Have Trips to Hogsmeade

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for the reviews, you guys! :D I really really appreciate the feedback that I've been getting. I have a feeling that you guys will like this chapter…

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Seventeen: We Have Trips to Hogsmeade_

_Harry,_

_I've attached the permission slip with this letter, you sly dog, you. Go and get her._

Harry beamed at Sirius's short message and its attached permission slip. This kind of permission slip just needed a guardian's signature, and the guardian didn't even have to live with him. It was perfect.

"What's that?" Hermione asked. She didn't look over at the parchment, but rather politely sat beside him at the breakfast table and looked at him with curious eyes.

"Just a letter."

"From your friend?"

Harry nodded. He never elaborated on who this "friend" was. And Hermione never asked for their identity. That somehow made him feel even worse about not telling her about Sirius.

"Hey, that Hogsmeade trip is tomorrow, isn't it?" Harry asked conversationally.

Hermione looked at him strangely. "Er, yeah, I believe so. You don't have permission, though, so…."

"Oh, I do," he said confidently, with a smile.

"Your relatives had signed the slip?" she asked with wide eyes. He loved when he surprised her. Hermione was so smart that she was generally one step ahead of him.

"Something like that," Harry told her. "All that matters is that I've got permission now."

Harry swallowed nervously. He suddenly didn't have an appetite anymore, he realized, as his stomach twisted nervously. Harry remembered asking Sirius for a permission slip to go to Hogsmeade, so that he could ask Hermione to go with him. Sirius was all for it, as was very apparent in his reply message.

After what had happened in that corridor between him and Hermione, he didn't feel like she was just a friend anymore. Friends didn't do intimate stuff like that. And especially from how he enjoyed her touch and that moment between them, he wasn't even sure he wanted them to just be friends. Whatever that was, it was not _friendly_. He loved the sensation when their fingers had intertwined and Hermione kissed his skin. He remembered that kiss she left, right between his shoulder blades… it had ignited his skin with sensations he'd never felt before. It was bliss.

And it scared him, because he never felt this way before towards anyone.

Harry had had his hookups with girls at parties last school year, but that was different. He didn't _know _them like he knew Hermione. They were just faces and bodies. Hermione was so much more than that, and what hurt him was that Hermione didn't know just how important and wonderful she was, and how much she meant to him.

Was it even normal to feel this way? Was there something wrong with him?

He wondered if she felt the same way, if she was got butterflies when thinking back to that moment in the corridor. Certainly it had meant something to her as well? Hermione's tiny fingers had traced over his scars, gracefully sucking the poison out of his life… would she have done that for _just a friend_?

"Are you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" Harry asked, trying to sound as casual as possible even though inside, he was freaking out.

What was this, an invitation for a _date_? Was Hermione going to interpret it that way? Did he _want_ it to sound like a date, or would that scare her off?

Hermione shrugged and looked down at her breakfast. She bit her lip. "I usually don't go. My mum made me get a dress to go out to Hogsmeade, since girls wear nice clothes there, but… I generally just stay inside. I haven't gone since my third year."

Harry felt crushed. Could he persuade her to go? Or was all of this hope just for nothing?

"Er, well, why don't you give it a go? We can go together," Harry added shyly.

Hermione turned to face him, her eyes bright and beautiful. "Together?"

"Er, yeah."

She gave him a smile that lit up the entire room, and the butterflies in his stomach multiplied. "I'd like that," she replied.

Harry internally let out a sigh of relief. They could go together, and Hermione was totally okay with it. In fact, in her words, she'd _like _that.

"Cool," he said, but he immediately regretted saying that, because it kind of made him sound stupid and awkward. Then again, he _felt _stupid and awkward.

His head turned around and he saw that Malfoy, once again, still wasn't at the Slytherin table. Nor were the two monkeys that normally followed him around. He might have been fifty feet near Hermione, or maybe McGonagall had told him to not be in the Great Hall anymore. Either way, Harry was both happy and upset that Malfoy wasn't in the room. He was happy because Hermione didn't have anything to worry about, but sad because he couldn't beat up the bastard.

"Hey, would Malfoy be there? At Hogsmeade?" Harry asked as a thought popped into his head.

"Oh, no, he's banned from all out-of-school things," Hermione reassured him. "He's stuck on the grounds."

Thankful that he wouldn't have to worry about Malfoy on the trip, and Harry smiled back at Hermione.

. . .

"So, you've really never gone to Hogsmeade since your third year?" Harry asked as they approached the end of their tour.

The two of them spent another day just walking around, not really caring about the time or where they went. Hermione was walking a little closer to him than she usually did.

Hermione nodded. She had freckles on her nose… he'd never really realized that before. It was really cute. "And I only went once."

"Ron told me it's awesome," Harry said.

Hermione didn't stiffen at the mention of Ron. Perhaps she was trying to be respectful to the fact that he was Harry's friend. But now, even Harry wasn't sure if Ron was his friend. "I suppose it was alright the one time I went. Neville threw up during the trip, though. It kind of ruined the moment."

"Oh God," Harry said. He paused, and then asked, "Hermione, have you even been talking to Neville recently?"

She nodded and bit her lip. She looked cute when she did that. Harry almost wanted to tell her that, but he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. She already acted strangely when he had called her pretty. "We still do talk, I suppose, but I generally have to start the conversations now. He doesn't come up to me."

"Why?"

"Well, I'm guessing – and please don't take this the wrong way, Harry – it's because I'm friends with you now," Hermione replied honestly, avoiding his gaze. She exhaled.

"I'm sorry," he said, truly feeling guilty. "I could talk to him to for you, if you'd like."

"No, no, that's fine," Hermione said, waving away the offer with her small, dainty, perfect hand. "To be completely honest, whatever Neville and I had was barely a friendship. We were just stuck together because… because we didn't have any other friends." Harry's heart broke from hearing this. "I do care about Neville and I'd do anything for him, but it just wasn't going to last very long. I mean, I couldn't tell him secrets or confide in him with anything, really. I didn't trust him, and how can I have a friend who I can't trust?"

"You have a point," Harry said. "My 'friends' back at home weren't trustworthy. I guess I just didn't realize that they weren't friends until now…"

"Well, at least _we_ trust each other," Hermione said with a beautiful smile. "I know I can tell you anything, and you know that you can tell me anything."

Harry felt even more guilty for not telling her about Sirius as she spoke those truthful words. It crushed his heart. He knew that she wouldn't tell a soul… he'd already confided in her with so much. And Harry knew that Hermione would, in turn, tell him anything without second guessing their trust.

"Hermione, there's something I have to tell you," Harry said with a sigh. He rubbed his eyes. His heart began to race.

Hermione looked up at him with wide brown eyes. He could clearly see all the freckles dotting her nose and making their way under her dark circles that marked her sleepiness. "Okay, what is it?" she said casually.

"Please let me explain, and don't run off or – or anything," he warned.

Hermione lightly chuckled. "I wouldn't run away from you," she said.

Harry thought that her mindset of that might change when she learned the truth. But every time he got a letter from Sirius, he described it as just a letter "from a friend". And whenever he was writing a reply, it was "to a friend". How long could he keep that up? Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew that Harry didn't have any true friends at home… if you could call Privet Drive a _home_.

"You've heard of Sirius Black, right?"

"Oh God, Harry, did he do something to you, too?" Hermione asked in a wary voice.

"No, no, nothing like that at all," Harry said immediately. "You see… he's the age that my parents would've been, had they still been alive."

She nodded slowly, appearing to be deep in thought. "That is correct."

"He was my dad's best mate," he revealed. His voice dropped down to a whisper, "And he's my godfather."

Hermione's eyes were wide with shock. "He… _what_?"

"He's my godfather," Harry repeated in a low voice. Clearly, whatever Hermione had expected him to say, it was far from this.

"But Harry, he's a convict on the loose," Hermione explained.

"First of all, he's innocent, but even so it doesn't make him any less my godfather."

Hermione's hands covered her mouth as she gasped. "Did he – did he give _you _permission to go to Hogsmeade?"

"Yes, he did."

"Is he the friend you've been writing to?"

Harry nodded. "Yes." Hermione was catching on quickly. It spared him from having to explain all of that.

"So you know where he is!" Hermione exclaimed, her eyes still wide with shock.

"Shh," he warned. "Yes, I know where he is."

"But Harry, he's… he's dangerous," she said shakily.

"He's not," Harry told her.

Harry then proceeded to tell her – in a whisper – Sirius's tale. He became nervous, wondering if she would even believe all of it. She remained silent, listening intently as he explained all of it, remembering what Sirius himself had told him: how Sirius was framed, how Peter Pettigrew committed the real crime, how he was now residing where the rest of the organization in the anti-Voldemort movement was, how Sirius was the first person Harry trusted when being introduced to the magical world. He also revealed that this organization was called the Order of the Phoenix, and Hermione gave a knowing look, as she'd probably heard of the last time the Order was in effect.

Hermione just stared at him pensively for a few moments as he finished. He could practically see her mind spinning and trying to work out the situation logically. Harry felt his stomach flip from nerves as he wondered if Hermione would believe the truth. She believed him about Voldemort… surely she'd believe him in this situation also?

"Okay," she said, sounding a little flustered from being fed all of this information. "If you say it's true, then I believe you, Harry."

Harry smiled at her. He could just hug her for believing him and not questioning it. And he knew that she wouldn't tell a soul of what she had just learned. Knowing he could trust her was the best feeling in the world.

"Thank you," he said breathlessly. When would he ever stop thanking her? Harry wasn't even sure that there was a proper way to thank her for everything she had done.

"No need to thank me," she said happily. There was a pause. "When did you meet him?"

"Right after escaping the graveyard," Harry said solemnly. "So, just before school started. Dumbledore took me to the Order's headquarters, and Sirius was there."

"Do you… do you trust him?" she asked quietly. She almost seemed hesitant, as though she didn't want Harry's trust to be shared anywhere else.

"I do," Harry told her. "Although I haven't told him about the Dursleys, though. You're the only person that knows."

Hermione frowned. She always had that look on her face whenever he brought up any poison that ever existed in his life. It showed that she cared. She – along with Sirius – might have been the only person that cared about him.

"Have you ever wanted to tell Sirius about them?" Hermione asked quietly. Her lips were slightly parted as she continued to have that pensive look on her face. Her lips were a pretty, light pink color.

"A part of me wanted to tell him, yes," Harry replied honestly. "But I never got around to it. I think so much was going on that all I could think about was Voldemort…."

"Are you still having those nightmares?" she asked. Hermione looked up at him with big, beautiful eyes full of worry.

He shrugged. "Yeah." He didn't see the point in lying to her.

Each night that he fell a victim to sleep, he woke up screaming from his nightmares. The other boys in the dormitory were initially annoyed but were now used to it. Ron always slept through the noise – his loud snores were proof – and soon enough the other boys slept through it as well.

Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Harry felt his heart rate kick into double-time, but as soon as Hermione let go of his hand he felt disappointed. Did she feel the same way?

"Is there anything I can do?" she offered weakly.

"No," he mumbled. He wanted to hold her hand again.

Hermione sighed. The two of them were approaching the Gryffindor tower. Hermione expertly told the half-sleeping Fat Lady the password.

"You're always coming in late!" the Fat Lady complained in a lazy, obnoxious voice, right before she fell right back asleep.

Harry let Hermione go in first through the portrait hole, and soon they were both in the deserted common room. The flames of the fireplace were still blazing in their presence. He always dreaded this time of the trip: the end.

"We'll meet here, then, to go to Hogsmeade?" Hermione asked timidly.

Harry nodded. "I can't wait."

She smiled. "Me neither."

A flush rose in her cheeks, and Harry wondered if her heart was racing at the same pace his was.

"Good night, Harry," Hermione said sweetly with a smile. "Sweet dreams."

"Good night, Hermione," he replied.

He watched as she walked up the stairs to the girls' dormitory, opened the door, turned to smile back at him, and disappeared from his sight. Harry knew it probably seemed stupid, but he always wanted to make sure she got into the girls' dormitories safely before he went to go to the boys' dormitories.

. . . . .

Hermione was focused in front of the full-length mirror in the dormitory when she heard a gasp behind her. Figuring it was Lavender about to tell Parvati a piece of gossip, Hermione ignored it.

"_Hermione!_" Lavender squealed.

She deeply regretted having to be in the girls' dormitories in order to get ready to go to Hogsmeade. She wanted nothing more than to leave.

Hermione turned around, abandoning her reflection, and saw Lavender Brown with her hand covering her mouth.

"_You _and _Harry Potter_," Lavender said. She was in a blue dress that was more formal than what Hermione was wearing… and prettier. Then again, Lavender was just a prettier girl in general; she had gorgeous hair and nice eyes and big boobs.

This was the first time Lavender didn't call Hermione ugly, or tell her that her hair was messed up, or accuse Hermione of having an eating disorder.

"Er, what about us?" Hermione asked awkwardly. She fidgeted with the material of her ugly dress.

"You two are dating, aren't you?" Lavender said simply.

"No."

"Oh, but you _so _are!" the blonde said, giggling.

"We're not," Hermione replied. Harry couldn't possibly like her in that way.

Lavender sighed, as though Hermione was a child to be ridiculed, and put her hands on her hips. "_All _of the other girls are super jealous… Harry is gorgeous! And we wondered why he was dating you. I mean, it was like all of the sudden, you two just started spending time together. Wait, wait… Are you paying him to spend time with you?"

"What? No, of course not," Hermione said. Of course, Lavender thought that there was a catch involved, that nobody could _possibly _be dating Hermione. "Harry and I are just friends."

Although now, Hermione wasn't even sure herself if Harry and her were _just friends_. The moment they shared in the corridor the other night was not something that happened between friends. But she highly doubted that Harry was attracted to her. _Nobody _was attracted to her.

"Parvati and I were quite surprised, you know, that you two are together," Lavender said, crossing her arms over her chest and ignoring whatever Hermione was saying.

Hermione felt that familiar dread coming on, like Lavender was going to shove her, or pour a bucket of water on her, or call her hideous. But Lavender didn't do any of those things.

"You have _got _to tell me how you two got together…" she said dramatically. "Here, I'll do your hair and makeup, and you can tell me all about it!"

Hermione immediately refused. "No, thanks, I – I don't wear makeup or do my hair, or anything."

"Oh, but sweetie, trust me, you need it," Lavender assured her.

She desperately wanted to say something, but Hermione found herself agreeing with Lavender. Hermione _did _need makeup, and her hair looked terrible. How was she supposed to retort back when she had the same mindset?

Before she knew what was going on, Hermione was being pushed into the seat that faced a vanity. Lavender expertly picked up some makeup brushes and dabbed at Hermione's skin with some skin tone-colored substance.

"So, how did you two meet?" Lavender asked in a sing-song voice.

"Er, we have classes together," Hermione replied quietly. "Lavender, I really don't wear makeup, it's fine –"

She wondered what the heck was going on. Surely there had to be a catch here. Maybe at the end of all of it, Lavender would wipe it away with a charm and say, "Just kidding! You're _hopeless_!"

"Mhmm… well, just how did you two start talking to each other?"

"We just, er, I don't know… just began talking about classes and stuff, I suppose," Hermione said awkwardly as Lavender stabbed her eye with mascara. She didn't want to disgrace Harry's dignity by revealing the truth. Hermione knew how much of a gossiper Lavender was.

"And then it just went on from there?" Lavender asked. The way she spoke almost sounded like this whole thing was a joke, like she didn't believe Hermione.

Hermione shrugged. "I guess."

"Does he ever… talk about anyone?" the blonde asked curiously, dabbing Hermione's cheeks with a brush.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

She now had eyelashes that were almost visible, due to the mascara. There was no eyeliner or eye shadow, which Hermione was grateful for. This reminded her of the way her mum put makeup on every morning. Hermione didn't look much different… she still looked just as hideous as she had before. She was a hopeless case; no amount of makeup could possibly make her look pretty. It was just simply impossible. So why was Lavender humoring her?

"You know, about girls. Has he ever mentioned me?" Lavender asked distractedly. She picked up a pink powder and attacked Hermione's cheeks with a brush.

Oh God. Hermione knew where this was going. Lavender was bribing her by trying to cover up her flaws in exchange for knowing more about Harry.

She should have known that this was all too good to be true.

Hermione tried to get out of the seat, but Lavender put a steady hand on her shoulder.

"Er, no, he keeps to himself sometimes," Hermione choked out.

"Mysterious," Lavender said approvingly. "Just my type."

"Er, your type?"

"Well, Hermione, dear, it's _so _obvious that's he is, like, the hottest guy in our year. I used to think Ron was cute, but Harry just beats out everyone," she said sensually.

Lavender whipped out a lip gloss and before Hermione could be grossed out, it was applied to her lips. It felt sticky and disgusting. How her mother could deal with covering her flaws like this every morning was beyond Hermione.

"Has he really not mentioned me before?" Lavender asked. She flipped her hair and puckered her lips, as though Harry was actually in the room.

"Not that I – not that I remember," Hermione stuttered. She wanted to leave. She knew what Lavender was playing at.

"Well, when he compliments that awesome job of makeup, you'll credit me, won't you?" she said with a smile, putting some transparent powder over Hermione's face.

"Er, yeah, I guess."

"That's a good girl. Now, onto your hair!" she squealed.

Hermione sighed and answered questions with half-truths as Lavender attacked her hair with a brush and curled it with a Muggle device that her mum used. It was incredibly obvious that Lavender fancied Harry, almost sickeningly so.

"All done!" Lavender said with satisfaction, clapping her hands together. Hermione frowned at her reflection, but the blonde didn't seem to notice. "Don't forget to credit your stylist!"

. . . . .

Harry was waiting at the bottom of the stairs of the girls' dormitory. All of the other girls had left by now. Lavender Brown, sporting a blue dress, smiled at Harry and waved. He ignored it. It was pretty goddamn annoying.

"Er, Hermione?" Harry called down from where he stood. Hermione had told him once that if a boy were to take one step on that staircase, it would turn into a slide. He wasn't risking that.

The door opened in response, and Hermione stepped out of the room. And she was fucking beautiful. She wore a casual, light pink dress that hugged her body in all the right ways. A small ribbon wrapped around her trim waist, and her hips curved out below it. The dress was not too fancy at all; it was perfect. Her hair was in gorgeous waves that flowed down near her elbows.

Harry just couldn't stop staring at her.

"Sorry I'm so late," Hermione said, sounding flustered as she walked down the stairs hastily. "I was going to change into something else, but I was already rushing, so…."

"No, what you're wearing is just fine," Harry reassured her. His heart was ready to beat out of his chest. The rate of its beating was so loud that he wondered if Hermione could hear it. "You look really nice," he choked out.

Hermione gave him a small smile and muttered, "Thank you. Er, shall we go, then?"

Harry nodded. Together they walked out of the portrait hole and made their way to the carriages that awaited them outside.

"Did you do something different with your hair?" Harry asked as they walked. A few fourth years around them stared, and he glared back at them.

Hermione self-consciously grabbed a piece of hair and twisted it between her fingers. "Er, Lavender Brown curled it a little bit, that's all."

"You two are friends?"

"Well, no… she was pretty much bribing me by doing my hair and makeup in exchange for information about you," Hermione said with exhaustion. "She quite obviously fancies you." She looked down at the floor and continued to twist her hair.

"Well, I don't fancy her back," Harry told Hermione honestly. "What did you tell her?"

"I didn't tell her the truth," Hermione assured him. She looked up at him and added, "It was all quite sickening, really, to have to hear her go on and on about you."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "The dormitories are the only place I can't be there for you."

"It's fine," she said, waving away his comment.

God, she was so beautiful. Hermione didn't look much different, as Lavender luckily hadn't overdone the makeup, but somehow in that dress – and not in plain Muggle clothes or school robes – she became so much more attractive. Harry hadn't known that a body like that hid under her clothes. He felt ashamed for thinking of her that way, so he distracted himself through trying to make her laugh by pointing out the odd life-like portraits around them.

Harry and Hermione made it to the carriages that pulled themselves, and Harry let Hermione go in first. Once the two of them were settled, Hermione faced the glass window and appeared to be looking at her own reflection.

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly. What could _possibly _be wrong with what she was seeing in her own reflection?

"What? Oh, nothing," Hermione said hurriedly, composing herself and looking away from the glass. Her brown eyes focused in on him, and he felt butterflies in his stomach.

"Hermione."

"Well, I just – I just wish I hadn't let her put this makeup on me. I hate makeup," she admitted as the carriage shuttered and began to move.

"You still look like yourself," Harry told her. "Lavender didn't _cake on _makeup."

"Oh, Harry, I'm hopeless," Hermione said with a sigh. "No amount of makeup could help me… that's why I don't bother with it."

"Help you? What do you mean?" He gave her a quizzical look.

Hermione looked distressed. "Help me look pretty," she said matter-of-factly, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world.

She had never actually said this aloud, and it broke Harry's heart to hear what she really thought of herself. Hermione truly didn't believe she was pretty. And it tore him apart.

"Don't say that," Harry said. Hermione shook her head, looking ready to protest. "You look beautiful."

Hermione looked at him with disbelief. It was obvious by her reaction that she had never been called beautiful before. That girl deserved to be called beautiful all the time, because it was true. She was beautiful on the inside and the outside, and Harry was so lucky just to be in this carriage with her… why could nobody else seem to realize that?

"Thank you," she said quietly. Harry saw a tear fall from her eye as she looked away from him. She was clearly trying to hide the tear away from him, so for her sake, he acted like he didn't notice it, although he was actually bursting to comfort her somehow. He hadn't meant to make her tear up….

The carriage came to a halt and Harry opened the door for Hermione. She muttered a "Thank you". They followed the crowd of students – from third years up to seventh years – to Hogsmeade. It looked spectacular, with all the restaurants and cafes and pubs and gift shops. A magical village. Harry almost saw what Hermione meant when she said that magic was beautiful.

Hermione began reciting facts about it – the moment of her tearing up in the carriage now gone – and Harry listened intently. He always enjoyed listening to whatever she had to say, and he wasn't sure that she was even given that sort of attention before… either way, he was glad to give her it.

"Where do you want to go first?" Harry asked.

"Maybe a bookstore, I've been wanting to get some new books…" Hermione began. Harry wasn't surprised. She had that determined look at her face and Harry adored it.

"Okay, then let's go," he said. "Lead the way."

Hermione apparently knew the path by heart to the bookstore, despite the fact that she hadn't been at Hogsmeade in two years. A breeze flew by and Hermione's hair floated with it momentarily.

"It's right here," Hermione said, grabbing Harry's hand and dragging him into the store.

As they met the warm atmosphere of the bookstore, Harry found his hand still in Hermione's. And he was fine with that. For a few moments they stood there, but then Hermione let go of Harry's hand and once again, he felt disappointed. He missed the feeling of her skin against his.

"Let's see…" she said distractedly, making her way through a maze constructed of bookshelves. The two of them walked past shelves and Hermione picked up the books that she'd wanted. The ecstatic look on her face was priceless; she looked like Dudley whenever he got a new gift.

Harry offered to pay for it. Mrs. Weasley had sent him off with a bit of money from his vault that her son – Bill? Bob? Whatever his name was – had gotten.

"Oh, no, that's alright," she said, carrying the three new books.

"I've got it," he told her. Before she could argue, he was at the counter, handing over the money.

As they left the bookstore, Hermione slapped his arm playfully. "Harry! I told you that it was alright! I could've paid for it, you know."

"Yeah, well… too late," he said with a smirk. Hermione slapped him again, and he laughed. Feeling this care-free was a relief. "I'm paying for everything on this trip. Don't fight it."

Hermione sighed, but didn't continue and just thanked him. Together they made their way through different small buildings, and sometimes they bought things, but for the most part they just explored the village. Harry couldn't keep his eyes off of Hermione. He noticed the way some of the other guys were looking at her. His protective instincts were kicking in all the while; if any boy was too close to Hermione, Harry was prepared to show them otherwise.

Harry put her arm around her shoulders, to show everyone that nobody was to approach her. Hermione looked up at him, and he just smiled at her. This action kept many guys away from Hermione… _his _Hermione. He'd never thought of her that way, but now it seemed appropriate. He was protecting her and making sure that nobody messed with her, with his Hermione.

And his Hermione was beautiful, and she was smiling the whole time they spent together in the trip. She directed him to a place called The Three Broomsticks. It was crowded, but they managed to find a table. Harry, sadly, had to let go of her and let her sit across from him. She rubbed her hands together.

"I remember Neville and I having butterbeer here," Hermione said. Her smile was plastered to her face, and Harry couldn't stop loving seeing that smile. "It's really, really good."

A woman named Madam Rosmerta took their orders, which was just two butterbeers… Harry was taking Hermione's word for it. Hermione seemed uncomfortable in the woman's presence, as though Harry would be paying more attention to Madam Rosmerta than her. But Hermione was the prettiest girl in the room.

"I'm having a great time so far, Harry," Hermione told him, recovering once Madam Rosmerta left. She pushed a piece of shiny hair behind her ear.

"Me, too," he said truthfully, smiling at her.

Madam Rosmerta returned with the butterbeers, and Harry grabbed his glass and took a sip. Warmth trickled down his throat and spread throughout his body. He immediately felt calm. It was fucking fantastic.

"Bloody hell, you're right," Harry said, dropping his glass back down to the table.

Hermione had a soothing smile on her face. She threw her head back, allowing her hair to cascade past her shoulders. Her eyes closed and she let out a sigh. She looked free and beautiful. "I told you."

Before Harry knew it, they were leaving the Three Broomsticks because the trip was ending. Harry and Hermione walked back to the carriages along with the rest of the students. Hermione shivered against the cold that was coming upon them. Harry took off his jacket and wrapped it around Hermione. She looked up at him and said, "Thank you." She leaned in towards him as they approached the carriages.

Harry let her enter first, and then climbed in after her. He shut the door behind him. His jacket was far too big for Hermione, and her tiny body was engulfed in its material. But she didn't seem to mind; she looked comfortable.

Hermione crossed her legs graciously and told Harry, "Thank you for bringing me here. I don't think I would have gone otherwise."

"We should come to all of the trips here," Harry said. "It's nice to get out of the castle."

She looked deep and thought, and said, "I never thought of it like that. I guess it _is _nice to escape once in a while."

And the two continued on their carriage ride back to the place they both had conflicts with but suffered through together.

. . . . .

Hermione stood outside of the girls' dormitories, facing Harry. It was the end of another day, and it had been a fantastic one. After Hogsmeade, the two had eaten dinner and then spent their tour together remembering the trip. She kept thinking about the laughs she and Harry had shared over the duration of the day. Both of them had been care-free and it was so incredibly liberating. She wanted to spend every waking moment with Harry.

Harry had called her beautiful, which was something she'd never been called before. Hearing that word had made her tear up. She knew that Harry wasn't lying. He wouldn't joke around like that. He was absolutely serious, and Hermione felt _confident_. She felt beautiful. And it was the most amazing feeling in the world. _Harry thought she was beautiful._ That was enough to keep a smile on her face for the rest of her life and even in Heaven.

Hermione smiled and said, "Thanks again, Harry. I had a really good time."

She sounded like this was an end to one huge date, but in a way, she thought of it as a date. The two of them had certainly not acted like just friends… but who was going to make a move first? Who was going to take the plunge? Did Harry even like her in that way?

"I had a good time, too," Harry said.

Hermione gripped the railing of the stairs and hesitated. She didn't want this day to be over. She didn't want to leave. But Harry didn't say any more, and she turned to walk up the staircase.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry called out. "Wait."

Hermione turned around and walked back down. "What is it?" she asked, biting her lip. Did he want his jacket back? He _had _told her, just a few minutes ago, that she could keep it…

"I want to try something," he said with a sly smile.

Hermione looked at him, confused. Try what?

But then as Harry's face leaned in towards hers, she realized what exactly was happening. All she could see were his lips nearing towards her own. Hermione tilted her head to the right… that was what she was supposed to do, right? She suddenly felt extremely nervous.

What if she was a bad kisser?

What if _he _was a bad kisser?

What if they bumped noses?

Hermione felt Harry's breath on her skin and immediately let instinct take over. Her mind went blank and all she was focusing on was Harry. She _wanted _him, she wanted to kiss him and touch him and be with him…

Harry paused right as their foreheads touched. His skin was warm. He lazily smiled at her and his eyes were dark. And then he did it.

His lips pressed against hers and she felt the butterflies in her stomach erupt and her heart raced and her mind was still blank and all she could think about in those first indescribable, crazy, perfect, beautiful moments were those incredibly soft lips against hers. He was gentle at first, probably making sure that she was comfortable with it, especially after what had happened with Malfoy. Hermione reached one arm around his neck in response. He needed to know that she was more than comfortable with what was going on. This was _Harry_, after all. Her opposite hand buried itself into his hair and she dove her fingers through his hair desperately, issuing a moan from the back of Harry's throat. A _moan_. She felt Harry's arm snake around her waist and the other cupped the side of her face, his thumb rubbing her skin gently. This sent a new sensation through her that she'd never even thought she was capable of feeling.

Hermione tilted her head to the right even further, deepening the kiss. They broke apart for a few seconds to take a breather, and their breaths mingled together before she met his lips again with a more passionate force than before. She felt Harry's hand glide down her spine to meet the small of her back. Hermione thought that after the incident not too long ago that she'd be uncomfortable and uneasy, but she felt fine… she felt more than fine… she could kiss Harry forever.

The hand cupping her face was hot; every time their skin met, it was like fire. Her whole _body _was on fire as their two bodies met. Her hand dove further into his hair and he kissed her even harder. Hermione let out something between a whimper and a moan and Harry deepened the kiss – if that was even possible – in an instinctive response. She pulled him closer to her, desperate to close any distance that existed between them.

Hermione couldn't believe that she was kissing Harry. Not Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the infamous boy that everyone thought they knew. This was just Harry, the boy she was falling for, the boy that was kissing her back. She smiled against his lips and she felt him smile back in response. Her back arched into him and he held her tighter, _closer_, to him.

Their bodies melted together into one. The kiss became more needy, more desperate, and Hermione had never felt so determined to be so close to another human being. Harry seemed to be feeling the same exact thing.

Soon enough – far too soon, she thought – they broke apart and their foreheads were touching. Both of them were panting. Hermione freed her hand from his hair and Harry sighed.

He leaned in towards her ear and whispered, "Good night, Hermione."

Hermione smiled and felt a chill travel up her spine. She was completely out of breath. "Good night, Harry," she said breathlessly. "Sweet dreams."

She turned around, still feeling the impression of Harry's lips against hers, and walked up the stairs, feeling like a completely different person.

And she liked who that person was.


	18. Hermione Granger is Your Girlfriend

**Author's Note:** Some of you were wondering where this story is going. I hate to admit it, but I'm honestly not even sure yet. A part of me planned on ending it around somewhere past their Christmas holidays. But then I wouldn't want to end that early because I'd feel that you guys would be upset. But at the same time, if I think there's a part where it should end, I'll stop it there… I'm not going to drag on and suck the life out of a story just because I don't want it to end. If you've read some of my other stories you'll know that I end the story when I feel like the loose ends are tied and before things can get incredibly boring. I'm not a huge fan of writing adventure so this won't be drawing out to, like, the final battle or anything. Just putting that out there. Enjoy! :)

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Eighteen: Hermione Granger is Your Girlfriend_

Harry lay in bed, alone in being awake while everyone else slept, but this time, he was awake for a different reason.

He couldn't stop thinking about his kiss with Hermione. Harry had had several kisses before, but what he had just shared with Hermione made him wish that _that _was his first one. He remembered Hermione saying that she'd never been kissed before, and so he wanted to make her first kiss special and memorable.

And _that _kiss was beyond memorable. Harry didn't even know that Hermione could kiss back like that, that she could bury her fingers in his hair and send powerful sensations through his body, that she could deepen the kiss and hold him tightly. He had originally intended on making it a gentle kiss at first, to make sure she was comfortable with it, but desperation had taken them over and they indulged in the moment as two broken people who needed each other.

The decision to kiss her was on impulse… Harry couldn't possibly put into words his feelings for Hermione. He couldn't imagine just how to tell her how much she meant to him. Harry was never good with words; his feelings were generally expressed through actions. And so he went for it: he took the chance and kissed her.

He wanted nothing more than to see her again. Would she want their relationship to escalate to becoming boyfriend and girlfriend? Harry never had a steady girlfriend before. He could clearly imagine Hermione being his girlfriend, and he wondered if she wanted him to be her boyfriend.

Hermione changed his life. Harry had come into Hogwarts, not knowing or caring about anyone, and not intending to build any relationships. But Hermione Granger had showed up, the beautiful girl that she was, and she listened to everything he had to say, and she carried his burdens and taught him that magic wasn't so bad. She set him free. All his life he was never cared for, never loved, and Hermione proved to him that it was possible for him to be cared for. And he cared about her in return.

But the one question that scared him was: Would he even be a good boyfriend? Harry had seen couples roam the school grounds, hand in hand, and he wondered if he and Hermione could be like one of those couples. What were boyfriends supposed to do? Did he need to be more affectionate, or would too much affection scare her off? Harry had been that boy that girls' parents didn't want to date… had they been right all along? Were some guys just not meant to be boyfriends? He was nervous and scared about it all.

Harry soon fell asleep, despite his attempts to remain awake, and his nightmares of Voldemort slowly rolled over and out of the picture as he dreamt of Hermione.

. . . . .

Hermione woke up from her dream of Harry with a smile on her face. It was a Sunday, the day after Hogsmeade, and she had the whole day ahead of her.

She climbed out of bed and walked briskly to her wardrobe. She pulled on her clothes with haste and then went to the bathroom, where she took a quick shower. After performing a drying spell on her hair, she tried to fix it using her mum's hair care products. Her hair wasn't as shiny and wavy as it had been yesterday, but she supposed it looked okay.

She opened the door of the girls' dormitories and walked down the stairs. She smiled brightly at Harry, who was at the bottom of the staircase, waiting for her.

She never even thought that she'd get her first real kiss, but that night, she'd received a memorable kiss that she would never forget. All of the other students her age already had theirfirst kisses, and Hermione had been alone, up until just the night before. She knew that it probably wasn't Harry's first, but he had given _her_ the most perfect first kiss.

"Good morning," she said, still smiling.

She walked towards him and hugged him. Hermione wondered if it was okay to kiss him again, but she cowered and instead, she just kissed him on the cheek.

"Good morning," he replied. His green eyes were bright. She could look into those eyes forever and be completely content with it.

But she couldn't help but wonder… where did it leave them?

Would Harry want them to be official boyfriend and girlfriend now? Hermione certainly knew that she wanted that. Harry was not perfect by any means, but she liked who he was, and she wouldn't want him to change. Hermione also knew that she cared about him enough, and was attracted to him enough, to really know what she wanted.

Did Harry feel the same way? Would he even know how to comprehend what had happened?

Hermione hugged him again, this time leaning her head on his chest. His chin rested on top of her head and his arms wrapped around her waist.

"I really, really like you, Harry," Hermione said quietly, muttering into the fabric of his shirt. She felt like being completely and utterly open with Harry. They knew so much about each other already; why would there be a need to hide behind anything?

"I feel the same way about you," Harry told her in a low voice, stroking her hair.

Her smile widened, if that was even possible.

"I didn't have too many nightmares last night," he continued.

Hermione leaned back to look straight at him, but she was still resting in his arms. "What?" she stammered. She remembered his accounts of fighting off nightmares of Voldemort.

"The nightmares didn't wake me up, I actually got a couple hours of sleep," he explained, grinning ear to ear.

"Harry, that's – that's fantastic!" Hermione squealed. She got up on her tiptoes and for the first time, _she _kissed _him_. One of his hands dove into her hair and she smiled into the kiss.

When they broke apart, she asked, "But… how?"

"I had a dream about you instead," he said, almost sounding shy this time, as though reluctant to reveal this information. His smile was fading.

"You did?" she asked. "I had a dream about you," she added truthfully, laughing.

Harry seemed relieved by this. "I'm not sure how exactly, but dreaming of you kept the nightmares away," he said. He shook his head. "That sounds kind of stupid and cheesy when I say it aloud…"

Hermione hugged him closer. He smelled amazing. "No, no, it's not stupid or cheesy at all. I'm glad I could help." Harry laughed. "Maybe because there was nothing… nothing happy in your life, you were more vulnerable to having the nightmares."

"I suppose," he said. "They're not gone forever, I know that. But it was nice to have them away for just a little while."

Hermione frowned.

The two just stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace. They had returned to their old position, with Hermione's head on her chest and his chin resting on her head. She wondered if they were really boyfriend and girlfriend now, or if they just had a "fling"… was Harry even looking for a girlfriend? A part of her was bursting to ask him. She wanted to know what he was thinking in that moment. Hermione was smart, but when it came to romance and relationships, the poor girl was completely lost.

"Hermione?" Harry called out shakily, all of a sudden.

"Hmm?"

Harry pulled away from her, still keeping his arms around her, but the two were now facing each other head on. He looked nervous.

"Er, I was thinking about, you know, our kiss last night…" he began, biting his bottom lip nervously. Hermione nodded, willing him to continue. "And I was wondering, like, if you're okay with it… would you be my, er, girlfriend?" He switched his gaze to looking at anything except for Hermione.

Hermione's heart stopped. Harry looked more nervous; his wandering eyes were wide with anticipation. She had to refrain from letting out a girly squeal in response to his question.

"I'd love that," she said cheerily, her smile even brighter than before. She was his _girlfriend_. And the incredibly handsome boy in front of her was her _boyfriend_.

Harry looked relieved from his nerves and he smiled again. He bent down to kiss her. His lips felt sweet and soft and perfect. They were her _boyfriend's lips_. Hermione wanted to tell the entire world that she was Harry's girlfriend, that she was now the happiest person on earth. She pulled him closer to her to deepen the kiss.

"Er, Harry?" a voice asked, causing them to jump apart. Ron Weasley was at the bottom of the stairs that led to the boys' dormitory.

"Good morning, Ron," Harry said casually. He wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulders.

"I see you two are getting along well," Ron said. He looked appalled at the previous sight of the two of them kissing.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Harry said nonchalantly. Hermione leaned into the arm that was wrapped protectively around her shoulders. "You know, Hermione's my girlfriend now."

Ron just stared at the two blankly. He seemed at a loss for words; he didn't look angry… if anything, he just looked extremely confused.

"Oh," he said. He put his hands in his pockets and looked around, seeming to feel a bit awkward. "Congrats, then, I suppose."

Ron walked past them, flicking his eyes over in their direction a few times, and then left through the portrait hole.

Harry surprisingly didn't look like he felt any sense of loss. Ron had been a friend of Harry's, but after realizing Harry's relationship with Hermione, Ron had been drifting apart from him. He wasn't picking fights or demanding that Harry stop talking to Hermione… their friendship just simply fell. And Hermione kind of felt bad, because she knew that Harry would choose her first.

"A lot of people won't approve of us," Hermione said with a sigh. She felt nervous about the response that people would have.

"Who cares?" he asked. His grip on her shoulder tightened. "I'm so far from caring about what other people think."

"I wish I could have the same mindset," Hermione told him. Just thinking about other people's reactions made her knees weak with nerves.

Harry sighed into her hair. "Let's just relax today," he said. He looked over her head and glanced out the window. "How about we eat breakfast outside?"

"Harry, it's November, it's freezing!" she said, laughing. He could feel the tension easing from her in that simple, beautiful laugh.

"You can wear my coat when we go outside."

"I still have your other one from yesterday…."

"You can start a collection, then."

Hermione laughed again, and they clambered out of the portrait hole and went on their way to the Great Hall to get their food. As they walked out to the grounds, Harry held the hand of hers that wasn't holding a plate of her food. They got a few odd looks directed at their intertwined hands. Hermione looked a little shaken by it, but Harry kept his head held high above it all.

. . .

Harry had never been the one to care about what other people thought. He just wished that Hermione could disregard other people's opinions as well.

"Oh God, I could really use that coat of yours," Hermione squealed when the morning chill met them, thundering in swirls and sending gusts of cold air at their exposed skin.

Harry laughed and removed his own coat, then wrapped it around Hermione's shoulders. Just like yesterday, this coat was also too big on her. She looked cute in it, though. Their hands met again instinctively and they walked wordlessly over to a tree in front of the lake. Hermione placed their plates strategically before them and together they ate. Harry thought the sight of the lake was almost as beautiful as the girl that was sitting beside him.

Harry watched her in amazement as she ate healthy foods once again. "Honestly, I can't believe your willpower to not just binge on junk food," he told her.

She smiled. "My mum got me into the habit," she said, shrugging. Then she frowned. "I haven't told her about… about us. Yet. I mean, I've mentioned to her in passing before that we're friends, you know, when I write to her… but I haven't really given her too many details."

Harry felt his stomach drop. Being Hermione's boyfriend meant that her parents were an obstacle he'd have to overcome. Of course he wanted their approval. He knew he wasn't the ideal guy… he didn't get good grades and he certainly didn't have a good record – especially in the Muggle world – of staying out of trouble. Were her parents going to hate him? He knew that he wasn't good enough for Hermione. She deserved so much more.

"Do you think," Harry began, swallowing the rest of his food and losing his appetite, "that your mum would like me?"

Hermione nodded. "I think she would absolutely love you," she said confidently. She was shaking her head to herself and smiling.

He gave her a quizzical look. "Then why haven't you talked about me with her?" he asked. He didn't want to sound rude; he just wanted the truth.

"Oh, no, it's not… it's not that I'm afraid of her disapproval or anything," Hermione reassured him, understanding the confusion in his expression. "She just… she wouldn't shut up about you, that's all. She's wanted me to have a boyfriend for ages."

Harry laughed, feeling relieved. Hermione's mum seemed kind enough, then, if she was excited for Hermione to have a boyfriend. "What about your dad, then?" he asked. _This _time he felt nervous.

Hermione fiddled with her food lazily between her hands before responding. Harry felt shaky from nerves. "My dad always jokes about how he doesn't want me around boys and whatnot, but deep down, he's serious about keeping boys away from me," Hermione explained quietly. "I… I don't know if he'd approve, Harry. I wish I could tell you otherwise and be comforting, but I can't really tell you that he'd adore you. He's just protective, that's all."

Harry nodded, trying to cover the fear in his face. He knew that one day, if his relationship with Hermione worked out, he would have to face her father.

"He's really a nice person, Harry," Hermione said. "You look ill from nerves! He's really not _that_ bad. I can talk to him and tell him to be nice, don't worry." She chuckled lightly and touched his arm. There was hesitation evident in her expression before she offered, "Maybe you could meet them soon."

"Soon?" he choked.

"Well, I know that you don't have much of a family to go back home to for the holidays…. So what do you think about coming over to my house for Christmas?" Hermione offered, smiling brightly at him. "Oh, it would be nice, you know, for you to have a proper Christmas."

Harry, despite his fear of Hermione's father, loved the idea of having a decent Christmas. All of his past Christmases were stained with useless presents like paperclips, or no presents at all, and he had always wanted an _actual _Christmas. He heard of the ideal Christmas, with presents under the tree waiting for the children of the house and time to spend with the family, but he'd never experienced it himself. Harry had thought that he would have a nice Christmas when he finally started a family of his own. He briefly wondered if Hermione was going to start that family with him, if everything worked out in the end.

Spending the holidays with Hermione sounded perfect. It was almost too good to be true. Her offer for them to spend Christmas together meant more to Harry than she could possibly understand.

"I mean, if you wanted to stay here, that's fine, too…" Hermione said softly, seeing his hesitation.

"No! I'd – I'd love to go," he said. He'd hesitated only because he was too lost in his own thoughts. "I'd really like a nice Christmas, especially with you."

"Great!"

She beamed and tilted her chin upwards so that she was properly facing him. Taking the hint, Harry leaned down and kissed her. God, kissing Hermione would never get old. He cupped her face in his hands and she dove her hand through his hair, making him sigh between her parted lips… he loved when she did that. Her lips were warm and sweet and perfect. Harry never really knew how to express his feelings through words, and so he desperately tried to express them through his kisses with her.

When they slowly broke apart, they were a little out of breath. Their foreheads were touching. "I'll write to my mum, then," Hermione said breathlessly. Her eyes were hooded with lust and she sent him a lazy smile that made his heart beat twice as fast. "I'm sure that she'll love to have you over."

"That sounds great." He bent down to kiss her again, just a quick peck this time, and when they broke apart Hermione smiled up at him.

She leaned against him and crisscrossed her own legs with his, and they were in that peaceful, entangled position that Harry wanted to stay in forever. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. Harry had thought that maybe it would feel awkward after announcing to themselves that they were now boyfriend and girlfriend, like maybe they would feel that they had certain obligations to meet. But this – his renewed relationship with Hermione – was completely natural and effortless, and he loved every second of it.

Hermione grabbed the material of his shirt and lazily picked at stray threads. She had a curious look on her face until she finally asked, "Have you ever had any other girlfriends before?"

Harry froze. "Not really," he answered. "I've had hookups in the past, but never a serious relationship." He was being completely honest with her. She deserved the truth.

Hermione bit her lip. Her fingers pulled another stray thread on his shirt and she tilted her head. Her brows furrowed together. "Have you… have you had feelings for any of them?" she asked quietly, her question barely audible in the cold morning air.

"Feelings as in… the feelings I have for you?"

She nodded. Harry felt his heart break. She must have been feeling jealousy towards these girls Harry had snogged. But those girls… they didn't mean a thing to him now, especially when Hermione was his girlfriend. There were no other girls in the world that mattered.

"Of course not. With those other girls, it was just a little physical attraction, nothing more," Harry explained to her. "The feelings I have for you are much, much more than anything I ever felt for those girls." He gently lifted her chin up so that she was directly facing him. Her big brown eyes looked only half-convinced. "I only have feelings for you, okay, Hermione?"

She nodded and sighed. "Alright," Hermione said. Her courage was building up in her voice. "I believe you."

Harry kissed her cheek, glad that this was solved. "You look beautiful," he told her truthfully.

"Harry!" she squealed, giggling. Hermione generally wasn't the girly type, but he loved when she did girly things like that. It was cute. The cold bit her face and her cheeks were bright pink against the rest of her pale face.

"I mean it," he said, more serious this time.

Hermione's giggles died down. "Well, thank you," she said, smiling.

. . . . .

Hermione didn't think that she'd have two fantastic days in a row, but she actually _did _have two fantastic days in a row. And she imagined many more fantastic days ahead of her with Harry Potter as her boyfriend.

The two had returned to practicing magic after taking a break. They used the same abandoned classroom as before. Hermione had set up all of the pillows and Harry performed magic; they were on basic second year level charms. Harry had improved significantly, especially that night. Every time he succeeded by holding the charm for longer than a couple of minutes, Hermione rewarded him with a kiss. Maybe that was what was motivating him to complete the charms successfully, but either way, she was extremely proud of him.

Whenever Harry was taking a break, sitting on a rickety stool in the corner of the room, Hermione would perform charms like transfiguring the pillows into swans, or just lazily sweeping sparks out of her wand. She was determined to show Harry how beautiful magic could be.

Sometimes, though, when the magic got to him and he started shaking, Hermione would run up to him and hug him close to her.

"It's okay," she'd whisper in gentle reassurance, and she'd feel Harry nod. Hermione would grab his shoulders and clung to him desperately, almost as desperately as he clung to _her_.

The two of them walked back towards the Gryffindor Tower. Hermione held Harry's hand, intertwining her fingers with his. She'd occasionally walk into him, making him laugh and playfully nudge her back and kiss her on the cheek. Hermione might have had to deal with the snickers and mutters of disbelief from the other students, but with Harry by her side she found that it was all worth it.

"Good night, Hermione," Harry whispered to her when they finally got to the bottom of the stairs before the girls' dormitory. She always hated this part of the night.

Harry bent down and they shared a nice, pleasant kiss. Hermione pulled away and whispered back, "Good night, Harry."

He gave her hand one last squeeze and then let go. Hermione walked up the stairs, each step more reluctant than the last. When she reached the door, however, she heard an unusual sound of chatter. Hermione's stomach twisted uncomfortably. This had rarely ever happened before.

The other girls were still awake.


	19. She Could Kiss You All Day

**Author's Note:** As you can tell, there is no longer a set updating schedule… I'm just a machine, my only purpose to please my lovely readers, writing frantically to get these chapters out. Hey, it's summer, screw schedules. Anyway, I really _really _hope that you guys enjoy the chapter. I get so incredibly nervous every time I update because I'm afraid you guys will hate it, haha. In fact, I get as nervous as a twelve-year-old boy asking a pretty girl to a dance. Yeah, I just went there.

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Nineteen: She Could Kiss You All Day_

"Hermione! You're never here when we fell asleep! So we thought we'd wait for you!"

Hermione shivered under the excited squeal that Lavender Brown choked out. She slowly closed the door behind her, not breaking her gaze from Lavender and Parvati, and she thought about Harry, who was far beyond this door, gratefully away from these girls. Hermione wanted to run out and throw herself into Harry's arms and remain safe and out of harm's way. His embrace was the only place in the world where Hermione could feel like nobody could touch her, like she wouldn't have to hear snickers and comments about her. And now she was without him. She was raw and exposed before the two girls that she'd been hiding from.

How stupid had she been to think that just because Harry would protect her, that he would _always _be there? It was situations like these where Hermione was alone. Heartbreakingly and dreadfully alone.

"Where have you been?" Lavender asked, batting her eyelashes.

Hermione wondered if she could have time to escape. But running off now would only make them have one more thing to tease her about, or maybe they'd run after her. The cruel possibilities were infinite. Her heart raced and her stomach twisted and her mind went blank. She felt vulnerable all over again, with nobody to protect her. A part of her desperately wanted to cry out Harry's name and hope that he would hear her. But he couldn't help her… he was a boy, and so the stairs would stop him from getting to the girls' dormitory anyway.

"I've been… out," Hermione muttered quietly. Her eyes traveled to the floor, which she hoped would swallow her whole and take her away from this room immediately.

"With Harry?" Parvati pressed with raised eyebrows. She shook her hips and Lavender doubled over and laughed a girlish, high-pitched laugh that went right through Hermione.

Feeling heat rise to her cheeks, Hermione nodded.

She knew that although she wasn't pretty like them, and she didn't have nice boobs like them, and she didn't have tamed hair like them… she _did _have Harry James Potter. Lavender's attempts at draining information from a bribed Hermione before the Hogsmeade trip was proof that Harry was fancied by other girls. And it irked Hermione to the core.

"Oooh!" Lavender squealed, rising from her fit of laughter. She brushed a piece of blonde hair aside and winked at Hermione. "I never knew Hermione could be so… _promiscuous_!" She stood up from her bed and twirled around, her nightgown swaying around her knees.

Parvati shrieked with laughter, pointed at Hermione, and added, "Look at her go!"

Hermione briefly wondered if they snuck Firewhiskey from Hogsmeade and had a little bit too much.

She remained frozen to the door, not sure of what to do. Their words were daggers, thrown at her by the sheer force of their cruelty and finding home right in her breaking heart. And the mocking laughter just piled onto it, making Hermione feel even worse and conjuring the desire to leave the dorm as soon as possible.

But she wouldn't leave. Hermione was planted firmly to the ground here, unmoving against their mockery. If she ran off now, then she would never hear the end of it. She could deal with hearing their jeers and teases for now… couldn't she? Hermione heard Lavender burst out into another fit of laughter and she felt her bravery dwindling, if she ever had bravery in the first place. She felt utterly humiliated in the face of their nasty comments.

"Tell us, Hermione," Lavender said breathlessly, flipping her hair, which made Parvati giggle, "how _you _ended up with Harry. Honestly, of all the girls in the school, he picked you! How does that happen? I mean, just look at me! _Look at me!_ And he chooses _you _over _me_?"

"It's a mystery to me," Parvati noted, shrugging her shoulders and appearing to be genuinely confused, as though Hermione was this hideous creature that had somehow mysteriously seduced poor, unknowing Harry.

"Why aren't you talking to us?" Lavender asked, twirling her hair. "You can be honest with us… how much did you pay him? Or… wait, don't tell me… did you _flash _him or something?" She hit her mouth behind her hand and gasped. Behind her, Parvati shrieked with laughter and pretended to lift her shirt.

"Tell us! Why does he like _you_? What did you do?" Parvati asked. "Ooh! Ooh!" she called out, as though she'd just remembered something at the last minute. "How good of a kisser is he? How does he look _naked_?"

Lavender high-fived Parvati and another wave of giggles took them over.

They were humoring her, of course.

Hermione remained silent against their words. She knew that they would not _dare _to do this in front of Harry. For a wild moment, when she'd first entered the dormitory, she thought that maybe they would respect her… they would have to, if they wanted to get on Harry's good side. But it seemed that they were confident enough to talk to Hermione like this, like they would be able to get Harry either way. Like they didn't give a damn what it took to get what they wanted. Hermione knew, deep down, that they were sorely mistaken.

Lavender sighed and stuck out her bottom lip in an obvious pout. "She's not answering us, Parvati."

Parvati shook her head in obvious, mocking disapproval. "Shame…."

Hermione just stood there stupidly, as she always did, not fighting back. She felt humiliated and she could feel heat rushing to her cheeks again. Could the other girls hear how loud her heartbeat was? Her breaths were shaky and frantic, displaying the panic that was impatiently building up inside of her. Hermione felt smaller than them, insignificant and inferior, as though one tap on her shoulder would knock her down and defeat her once and for all. The sound of their laughter was swirling in her mind, ravenously eating at her dignity, as though it had been starving and hungry for whatever was left of her, the scraps of her very existence….

"Harry has a horrible taste in girls," Lavender commented, sneering at Hermione. Then her voice lowered to a near whisper and she continued, "It's unfortunate, really. You know, he never came off as being too bright, am I right, Parvati?"

Parvati nodded. "He beat up Draco Malfoy out of nowhere that one time! I mean, _really_! What a temper…." She shook her head. "Maybe I can tame him!" Parvati stood up on the bed and swung her hips in such a way that would've made any parent faint.

Lavender clapped and rolled over, gripping her flat stomach as her high-pitched laughter nearly broke glass around her.

Hermione clenched her fists. They could make comments about her all they wanted, but when she had to listen to them talking about _Harry_ – her Harry – like that, it fueled anger within her that had been slowly rising. Parvati was still pretending to make love to the air and Hermione couldn't take it anymore.

"Don't talk about Harry like that," she said shortly.

Her words shocked them so much that even Parvati stopped moving. "_What?_"

"Don't talk about my boyfriend like that," she repeated. Hermione felt a surge of admiration for him just by referring to Harry as _her_ _boyfriend_. "Or me, for that matter," she added, seeing as whatever was on her mind was just pouring out of her mouth rebelliously and meeting their disbelieving ears.

Lavender began to laugh again. "Ha!" she choked.

"Keep laughing," Hermione scolded, folding her arms across her chest. Her voice was slowly easing out of its shakiness. "Harry is _my _boyfriend, and you can make all the comments you want but it won't change anything. In the end, I get Harry, and you don't."

Hermione didn't storm out of the dormitory with what she hoped weren't famous last words. Instead, she walked right over to her four poster bed. Lavender looked like she was going to open her mouth to speak, and in that moment Hermione seriously regretted ever saying something in the first place, because she was just going to be laughed at _again_… of course they wouldn't take her seriously, and they'd just laugh in her face at her futile attempt to be defensive.

So Hermione decided that the only weapon she could use was surprise. She needed to literally shock them into silence. Hermione remembered the two questions that Parvati had shot at her just moments ago. She sat down, faced their pissed off expressions, and said, "And for the record, he's an amazing kisser, and he looks good naked."

After seeing Lavender and Parvati's jaws drop in complete shock, Hermione closed the curtains around her bed and curled up without even bothering to put the blankets over her. She knew the thoughts that were rushing through the other girls' heads, and it made her smile. Of course the only bare part of Harry's body that she'd seen was his torso, but Lavender and Parvati didn't know that.

The idea that Hermione Granger had lost her virginity before they had lost theirs was no doubt haunting them at this point. She could, in fact, hear them whispering back and forth, wondering if what she'd said was true. Maybe they'd come back at her the next day with cruel comments and slutty jokes, but for that night, she knew that Parvati and Lavender were not going to do a thing to her.

Her perfect, blissful moments with Harry and the kisses and touches they shared were something that was intimate between the two of them, and she was reassured at this point that he wouldn't fall for the other girls so easily. Hermione felt ashamed for a second, thinking back to how she'd initially let them crush her.

She felt courageous for the first time in her life, and maybe the Sorting Hat knew that this moment would happen, because she felt like she belonged in this dormitory, in this Tower. She felt like a Gryffindor.

. . .

Hermione could have kissed Harry all morning if they didn't have class.

"Mmm, what's gotten into you?" Harry asked jokingly when they broke apart from Hermione's sudden kiss.

She was grinning ear to ear. For once, she felt proud of herself for what she'd done the night before. "The other girls were awake last night," she told him.

His eyes widened, as was expected, into huge saucers and he looked immediately concerned. "They… _what_? Oh God, Hermione, you should have just left and –"

Hermione cut him off with a quick kiss. "No, no, listen," she said, bouncing on her tiptoes. And so she revealed the events of the night before, of how Lavender and Parvati mercilessly put her down, and how she, Hermione, had finally spoken up. She didn't remain silent; words that were bursting to be spoken had finally been heard. Hermione blushed furiously when she told Harry the last sentence she'd said to Lavender and Parvati.

"Wow," he said, smiling at her and having a blazing look of desire in his eyes. "I never knew you could be so badass."

Hermione laughed. She really _could _kiss Harry all morning.

"But in all seriousness, I'm so proud of you," Harry added. He bent down and their foreheads touched. Hermione could feel his hot, sweet breath teasing her skin. "I'm glad you said something to them."

"I'm glad, too," she admitted.

Hermione smiled back at him. She felt intoxicated just by his very presence; Harry made her feel so lightheaded, so _drunk _in his existence. And she basked in it. She grasped the back of his neck and pulled him down to fervently meet her lips with his. Harry's arms found their way around her waist and she lost her hands in his messy hair.

Yes, she thought, Hermione could have kissed Harry all morning.

_. . ._

_Dear Mum,_

_Remember how I told you that I'm friends with Harry Potter? _

_We've spent so much time together, and I've begun to like him. A lot. And the other day, he asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him, so I did. It was the best day of my life, Mum. And yes, I wore the dress you bought me. I suppose I have you to thank, because Harry called me beautiful for the first time ever when I wore that dress. Nobody except for you had ever called me that._

_And he's my boyfriend now! I know that it sounds so sudden, but we've really been getting along so well lately. He respects me; he's never made me uncomfortable, and he's so protective. I'm so happy. Harry really means a lot to me. He's the best boyfriend in the world. He always calls me pretty and he protects me when sometimes the other students aren't so nice. He's my best friend _and_ my boyfriend. I trust him._

_When I see you over Christmas break I can explain more. There's so much I want to say about him and I just can't fit it all in a letter._

_Speaking of Christmas break, can he please stay over our house for the holidays? He's never had a proper Christmas before, because the people that raised him are absolutely horrible. Between you and me, I'm not even sure if he's gotten so much as a Christmas present in his life. It would mean so much to me if he could stay over. I wouldn't be asking this if I didn't think that Harry and I could actually have a long lasting relationship. I really hope that things between us will work out._

_I think you would love him! _

_I know Dad might not approve. Dad, if you're reading this also, please just know that I want you to have an open mind if and when you meet him. Give him a chance, for my sake. _

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

. . .

_Hermione,_

_Sweetheart, I nearly cried reading your letter! _

_Of course your boyfriend can stay over for the Christmas holidays! I'm so excited to meet him. You've said that he's called you beautiful… the boy's in his right mind to say that. See, it's not just me who sees your beauty, love. _

_I told your father about Harry, and he is happy for you. A little grudgingly happy, but happy nonetheless. I have a feeling that he will want to have a talk with Harry when he comes by. We can at least give your father that reassurance. _

_Oh, honey, I'm just too excited for you! See, I told you that this year, things would be different. _

_We'll see you and Harry over the break! I can't wait to meet him!_

_Love,_

_Mum _

_P.S. Please do tell me, though, that you two are being safe. If Harry is as respectful as you say he is – and I believe you – then I hope I don't have anything to worry about. We'll talk more about this later._

. . .

Hermione looked over at Harry, who was gazing at her with an anxious expression. It was kind of cute, how nervous he was.

"She said 'yes'!" Hermione squealed, grasping the letter in her hand tightly.

Harry beamed at her, grinning from ear to ear. The prospect of them spending time together for Christmas must have made him nothing short of ecstatic.

She was blushing at the thought of the message in the bottom of the letter. Of course her mother would be a… typical mother… and remind her to stay safe. It seemed almost ironic now, seeing as over a week ago, she'd made Lavender and Parvati believe that she _wasn't _being smart.

Hermione had been glared at, and she got looks somewhere between surprise and disgust from Lavender and Parvati, but never once did they actually speak to her. Those two were beyond words at this point. It also didn't hurt that Harry was acting extremely coldly towards the two girls now.

Harry leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. Hermione could feel the stares and hear the snickers, but she didn't care. She and Harry were spending Christmas together, and it was going to be amazing and perfect and spectacular. The rest of the world didn't matter anymore. After last night, she'd realized that what other people said wasn't important. Hermione felt stronger than ever.

"Did your dad have anything to say?" Harry asked her, a worried look on his face now.

"Mum just says that he'll want to have a talk with you," Hermione answered honestly. She didn't see the need to lie.

Harry nodded slowly. "That seems… fair," he concluded quietly, however he still looked nervous.

"Don't feel bad. I think my mum is going to have her own talk with me," Hermione said, dreading the inevitable. "She reminded me to stay smart and safe, and whatnot." She rolled her eyes.

Harry choked on his food. Hermione patted his back until he swallowed his food successfully. He took a deep breath and nodded in thanks. "Right." Harry seemed to have lost his appetite at that point.

. . .

Harry was oddly quiet. Hermione knew that while he was excited to spend Christmas with her, he must have been nervous about facing her father.

"You're letting this get in your head," Hermione said, shaking her head. She waved her wand and muttered a small incantation that forced the pillows back into their original order. They were practicing magic again that night. "My dad's really not that bad!"

"I know," Harry said with a sigh. He put his wand in his pocket and wiped his scar-bearing forehead. His emerald eyes looked distant from behind his glasses. "I'm sorry."

Hermione frowned. She didn't want him to feel sorry for emotions that he couldn't help but feeling. She walked up to him and kissed his cheek.

"My dad won't _kick you out _or anything," Hermione reassured him with a soft laugh. She tapped the teacher's desk beside them anxiously when she saw that he tore his eyes away from her. "Is that what you were worried about?"

Harry shrugged, and her heart crumbled. He really thought that her father would hate him so much that he'd kick him out on the curb. Harry had dealt with too much cruelty back at home, and it tore Hermione apart. This Christmas, Hermione knew that she was determined to show him family values and that he was loved. And her father wouldn't hate Harry to the extent that her boyfriend feared.

"I really like you, Harry," Hermione told him, inching her face closer to his so that she could feel his sweet, hot breath tingling her skin. Harry's eyes grew dark and he planted his lips on hers.

Hermione devoured the moment and deepened the kiss. Her eyes were closed, and she felt Harry's strong arms ease her onto the teacher's desk. She felt embarrassingly erotic… desks weren't meant to serve _this _purpose. She felt his weight press against her, and she gasped when his lips broke from hers.

"Please," she begged breathlessly, wanting to feel his kiss again.

But then his lips met the skin of her neck and one of her hands gripped his shoulder fiercely, and she ached for more of him. Her other hand dove into his hair and she gripped his messy locks as he gently bit the skin there. Hermione's eyes rolled into the back of her head and her back arched.

She bent down, eager to do something in turn, and her lips teased the skin near his ear. Harry groaned into the crook of her neck. His hand ran down her arched spine.

Never, in a million years, did Hermione think that snogging could be _this _good. Harry was a fantastic kisser; there was no doubt about that.

For a moment she thought that she'd really been missing out on a lot this whole time, but the thought fled from her mind. Hermione hadn't been missing out on anything if it wasn't with Harry. To experience this closeness with him, to be touched this intimately for the first time in her life, was beyond words. Harry was opening her up to all of these moments, these kisses and touches, and she loved every second of it.

It was more than just a snog, and both of them knew it. It was desperation and anxiety and fear, and their broken selves meeting and exploring…

Harry led a trail of kisses down her neck and his name was on her lips. She wanted to spend every day doing this with him, perhaps until the very day that she died.

When he came back up to face her, Hermione kissed him passionately, wanting him and nothing else. And without thinking about it – because logic, for the first time ever, had left Hermione Granger in the heat of the moment – her hands crawled under his shirt. Harry took a sharp breath and her fingers traveled up his muscular torso that she knew was sporting all sorts of scars with pasts that she was painfully aware of.

Hermione felt wild and passionate when she was reminded, by the creak of the desk beneath them, that there was a teacher, their identity unknown to her, that used this desk...

Her fingers blessed the skin of his chest and Harry deepened the kiss, parting her lips so that their tongues met in a dance they already somehow knew, and Hermione's back arched further. Eventually Harry's shirt had been torn from his body, maybe from Hermione's impatient hands or from his own insistency, but did it even matter?

Did anything outside of the two of them even matter?

No, Hermione thought, as she traced his scars and tried to heal them just with her touch.

Hermione could have kissed Harry all night.

* * *

**Author's Note: **No, they're not having sex. I'm just putting that out there in case you guys were wondering. If they were, this would be rated "M". We're keeping this story rated "T", kiddos. No lemony goodness for you!


	20. What's Love?

**Author's Note: **Hello my love munchkins! This chapter takes place a few weeks after the last chapter. You'd be drowning in fluff if I wrote all the details, and we all know how much I hate fluffy stuff. This is the second to last chapter, you guys. Just one more update, and then we'll be done with the story! :( I've actually been re-reading the Harry Potter series over again to get details of a new story I'm writing. I'm in the process of writing three fics as a matter of fact, haha. Oh boy. Two are post-DH (excluding the epilogue as always, my loves) and one is very… different from what I've written. You'll see what I mean if I publish them! Anyway, onto the story! Enjoy! :)

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Twenty: What's Love?_

Jane Granger loved her daughter.

There was no denying that. She'd worked tirelessly to boost her daughter's self esteem, but all the shopping trips and thought out lectures in the world were useless to the image that was leading her daughter to self destruction.

It was a painful few years. It hurt Jane on an emotional level that she hadn't even known she possessed. Every summer Hermione would come back home, looking worse than usual. And Jane knew that something was going on, that there was more to the small shrugs and little explanations that Hermione gave. She wasn't stupid; her daughter had inherited much of her intelligence. Jane was painfully aware of the way that Hermione looked at herself in the mirror, appearing to be ashamed and embarrassed as she fussed about her own reflection. And it tore Jane's heart into a million pieces.

She scarcely asked about Hermione's treatment at school. She had figured that it would calm down, that her daughter was stronger than she'd assumed and she could weather it out. Besides, putting it all out in the open and saying it aloud might have crushed Hermione with its harsh realization. So Jane took another approach, by working on making her daughter love herself.

Hermione was a beautiful girl.

It wasn't just Jane's biased opinion for being her mother… it was the absolute truth. Was Hermione drop dead gorgeous and model material? No. It wasn't a fake, drawed-on-with-makeup beauty either that Hermione had. It was that natural, effortless beauty about her that would make any other girl scowl with envy. Her naturally flushed cheeks, long eyelashes, bright smile, and big brown eyes all molded into a pretty face that Jane was sure, one day, that a boy would finally notice and appreciate.

And Harry Potter showed up in Hermione's life and he noticed her.

Jane had marked on her calendar in her kitchen the day that Hermione – and her new boyfriend – would be coming home for the holidays. Just a few days now. It was almost painful, to have to wait this long.

In Hermione's letter, the letter Jane cried over, she mentioned that Harry had called her beautiful. Already, Jane liked this boy. She had heard of him and his fame over short discussions about the wizarding world that the three Grangers had shared… Harry Potter had defeated a Dark wizard when he was just a baby. It never occurred to her that she'd actually _meet _this young man. But she _was _going to meet him, as her daughter's boyfriend.

Jane's husband, Carl, was skeptical, of course. Jane kept trying to convince him that any boy who dated their Hermione would be welcome under their roof. Hermione was a very responsible girl and they at least owed her their trust. Hermione's excitement over this boy made _Jane _excited.

"Now, Jane, just because a boy's noticed Hermione doesn't mean that he's good for her!" Carl had exclaimed when they'd fought over Harry.

Jane had finally convinced him, though, to allow Harry into their home. Carl agreed, however regrettable his tone had sounded when their argument had been settled, to give Harry a chance. Their only term was that Carl was to have a talk with Harry, which was understandable. Jane planned on talking to Hermione herself while Carl talked with Harry… but instead the two would be squealing over the excitement of her having a boyfriend. Jane felt like a sixteen-year-old girl again, just thinking about it.

Hermione seemed very happy with Harry, and happiness was something that Jane had been striving to give her daughter for years. And Harry just swept in and gave her it, and Jane could just thank that boy every day for that and it still wouldn't be enough.

Harry probably didn't even realize just how much he'd changed Hermione.

. . . . .

Hermione held her breath as Harry muttered the incantation of the spell. His voice was different this time… it was clear and firm; he sounded like a student who'd been practicing magic for years. It was practically bringing tears to her eyes, watching him bravely face his fear like this.

And the pillows crossed the room in a smooth path, and then they landed. One by one the pile on one end of the room lessened and the other grew. A few times Harry would make the pillows flip over, which was a third-year spell. Hermione gasped each time he performed a spell. It was marvelous; it was… it was indescribable. Hermione felt tears streak her cheeks.

The look on Harry's face was nearly fearless; he flinched a few times, but compared to where he'd started from, it was practically nothing to worry about at all. Harry had a firm expression playing across his handsome features… he looked so courageous and so full of reassurance that nothing could go wrong.

And it was in that moment, Hermione realized, that she loved this boy… she loved him for who he is, the way he performed these spells now, the way he overcame his fear… she really, truly loved him…. Harry made her the happiest girl in the world. He called her beautiful. He protected her. He was the one person who really accepted her for who she was; he didn't ask her to change herself for him. And Harry had his flaws, but Hermione was more than willing to see past that, because he was willing to see past her own flaws.

"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed when finally the last pillow landed in the pile and more tears fell from her eyes.

He turned around and smiled brightly at her. She loved that smile. She loved _him_.

"I'm so proud of you!" she squealed, running over to him and throwing her arms around him gratefully. She loved how solid he was and how strong his arms were as they wrapped around her small frame.

Harry buried his face in her hair and his up-close breath sent a chill up her spine. Hermione leaned upwards and gave him a quick kiss. He smiled against her lips. She loved his lips.

"I – really, Harry, that was – that was incredible – you've made it so – so far!" she gasped with excitement when they broke apart. She was grinning ear to ear.

"I have you to thank," Harry said, leaning down to return the favor and kiss _her _this time. She loved his kisses.

Hermione giggled. God, this boy was making her do the weirdest girliest things. "No need to thank me," she whispered. She leaned against his solid frame and buried her face into his chest. She always felt safe in Harry's arms, even if he didn't know many curses or hexes. Just having him there felt like a perfect reassurance.

Harry might still have had a long way to go when it came to learning spells, but Hermione had faith in him, and he'd eventually learn…. He had so much potential that she was just bursting to teach him everything she knew all in one sitting. She knew he had it in him. And now, he was getting over his fear… Harry was able to perform spells without dropping his wand….

God, she loved him….

"Next week we can start curses," Hermione murmured excitedly. Her voice was muffled because her face was still buried in the material of his shirt.

Harry didn't act scared this time. "Good," he said. "I'll learn how to defend myself."

She smiled. "You're going to be a great wizard, Harry," she told him truthfully. "I can just tell."

Harry's grip on her tightened and he kissed her forehead. He didn't say "thank you", or come up with something romantic to say to her, but Hermione still loved him for it. Harry was not very good with words and expressing his feelings, and that was just the way he was. And Hermione accepted it.

"It's getting late," Hermione said a few moments later when she tried to suppress a yawn. She pulled back from him just enough to look at him, face to face. He really was very handsome, she thought, as her eyes gazed across his features. "Have you been having nightmares?"

"Not as often," he told her, his voice becoming serious. "I'm becoming less afraid… it's less effective…"

Hermione squeezed his shoulders and sighed. Seeing the dark circles beneath Harry's bright eyes always concerned her. She knew that she had her own circles to match – no, in fact, they were worse – but Hermione felt more worried about his health than her own.

And now he could finally get some rest.

. . . . .

Harry walked into Dumbledore's office feeling a little nervous. He felt childish and stupid, but he wanted to ask the headmaster if it was safe to go to the Grangers' household. He wasn't concerned about his own safety, but he didn't want to put Hermione and her parents in danger. He wished he'd thought about it sooner… what if it wasn't safe? What if he had to stay at Hogwarts, the target that he was, in order to keep Hermione away from danger? He would do it in a heartbeat, he knew. He'd rather have another lonely Christmas than risk harming Hermione.

"What is it, Harry?" Dumbledore asked from behind his desk.

The office was strange and interesting; far more interesting than McGonagall's office. The weirdest toys inhabited the room, but Harry didn't ask what any of them did. That wasn't important right now.

"Er, Professor, I was thinking about, er, staying at Hermione Granger's house for the holidays," Harry mumbled quickly. He felt heat rush into his cheeks. He looked away from Dumbledore and stared as his knees as he took a seat. "I was wondering if… if it was safe. If Voldemort wasn't going to find me, or anything," he continued in that same sort of mumble. It was embarrassing, but necessary.

When Harry looked up, Dumbledore wore a kind expression on his face. "Well, from the lack of missing persons, we can conclude that Voldemort isn't planning on… how would you say it? Making a scene. Your escape was not part of his plan, and now you can reveal his return at any moment. He is simply not strong enough, and does not have enough forces yet," Dumbledore explained to him. "The Order would have heard of him recruiting heavily… and so far he's been under the radar."

"So, he won't be attacking?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "However even I can make mistakes. I'm afraid I've made mistakes in my past…" He paused. "Of course, I can have some Aurors that are within the Order to put security measurements on the Grangers' household. And we can have daily check-ins by an Auror as well. So far, Voldemort does not know of your… relationship with Miss Granger." Harry looked down at his knees again and rubbed the back of his neck. "You will be safe."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, Professor," he said. "I feel a lot better now. You know, about their safety."

"Of course," Dumbledore said.

There was a pause between the two of them, and so Harry stood up and turned to leave. "Er, Professor?" Harry asked at the last minute.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Is there a way for me to stop by the headquarters to see Sirius, just for a day over the holidays?" Harry asked. He ached to see Sirius again. He'd consulted Hermione about this, and Hermione was actually willing to come along and meet Sirius. "And could Hermione come too?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I'd have to give Miss Granger the name of the location, of course," he said. Harry wasn't sure how that worked, but he just went along with it. "I'll have an Auror bring you to headquarters to see him. I'm sure you miss him."

"I do." Harry paused. "Well, thanks, Professor."

Dumbledore nodded, and Harry left, feeling more reassured that this Christmas was going to be the best Christmas of his life.

. . . . .

"You're nervous."

"What? No."

"Harry!"

"Okay… a little."

Hermione kissed him swiftly on the cheek. "I _told _you, my dad won't kick you out. He'll have to respect the fact that you're my boyfriend."

"I know," Harry said with a sigh.

They were on the Hogwarts Express, nearing their destination. Hermione knew that there was probably a few minutes left of the journey. Harry kept fidgeting in his seat and staring out the window unsteadily. It had been going on during the whole train ride.

Hermione leaned against his frame and let out a sigh. The last few weeks with Harry were by far the best of her life, but they were stained with Harry's anticipation of meeting her father. His worries formed into a cloud that had been looming over his head. Hermione tried to distract him by kissing him senseless and whispering sweet nothings in his ear, but it was only temporary. The boy was incredibly nervous that he was going to be shunned from the Grangers' house, and it didn't seem like anything would comfort him.

Hermione had been bursting to tell him that she loved him, but she hadn't found the right time to say it. She also was worried that Harry didn't love her back… she knew, of course, that he had feelings for her, but were they to the same extent as her feelings for _him_? What if she scared him off by telling him that she loved him? Harry was never good with words, he probably wouldn't be the first to say those three words first.

The Express was coming to a halt and she could feel Harry's body stiffen beside her. She kissed his jaw quickly and then got up. Hermione grabbed his hands and pulled him out of the compartment.

"Hermione," he whined, pouting.

"Oh, man up, Potter," Hermione told him. She saw him give her a small smile before she turned around and pulled him forward and out of the train.

Suddenly _Hermione_ felt nervous… for Harry's sake. Maybe he did have a point. She knew that her mum would love him. Her father… perhaps not so much. But she had high hopes that kept her going, that kept her dragging Harry out of the Express.

"Harry, come _on_," Hermione urged him on. Their feet met the platform and they grabbed their school trunks. There was bustle all around them, of families reuniting and well wishes of the holidays swelling into the polluted air of the platform. Her heart was racing.

Harry grabbed her school trunk as well as his own, put it on a nearby cart, and trudged it forward. Despite her nerves growing exponentially and twisting her stomach uncomfortably, she still admired his chivalry. She hoped that her dad would see that also.

"Mum! Dad!" Hermione squealed when she saw her parents waiting behind a huge group of wizards and witches.

Jane's face broke out into a huge smile and her wide eyes moved from Hermione to Harry and back to Hermione. She ran up to her daughter and nearly crushed her in a hug.

"Sweetheart!" she cooed. "I'm so glad to see you again!" She then dropped her voice to a whisper and said, "You didn't tell me how handsome Harry is!"

"_Mum!_" Hermione scolded, pulling away from her mother but still grinning nonetheless. She turned to face her dad, who was eyeing Harry in the way Hermione feared. "Dad!"

Hermione pulled her dad into a hug and he said, "I'm glad to see you, honey."

"Me too…" Hermione replied. Then she imitated and lowered her own voice to a gentle volume, nearly a whisper. "Dad, please be nice to Harry."

He didn't answer; he pulled back and just smiled at his daughter. Meanwhile, Jane was squealing over Harry and hugging him to the point where Hermione thought one of his ribs might break. When they broke apart, Carl slowly shook Harry's hand, and Harry said, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Granger," in a strong, polite tone that made Hermione proud of him.

"Same to you, Harry," Carl said. And he actually smiled at Harry, which was something.

"Let's go out to the car," Jane instructed. She thanked Harry for pushing the cart and they all began their trek to the Grangers' car.

Hermione distracted her father by telling him about her grades and their plans for the holidays. Carl put his hands in his pockets and paid close attention to his conversation with his daughter as Jane talked excitedly to Harry about how he was adapting to school.

"You'll give him a chance, won't you?" Hermione pleaded with her dad.

Carl nodded. "Because you seem to like him a lot… yes, I'll give him a chance." He looked back at Jane, who was now trying to fix Harry's hair. It was a battle she wouldn't win, really. "Your mother approves of him already, I see."

Hermione laughed. It was nice to be back, to see her parents after being separated from them for months.

"You've changed," her father continued, now eyeing his daughter with a quizzical look.

"Is that a bad thing?" Hermione asked with raised eyebrows.

Her father shook his head immediately. "No, it's good. You're still Hermione, but you're different…. Why?"

Hermione pointed to the boy behind them, and Carl said no more. He didn't look upset, nor did he look happy; he just looked like he wasn't convinced that one person could change his daughter in such a way. And Hermione didn't feel like getting into an argument with her father already, not when they hadn't even gotten into the car yet.

The two fell into a comfortable silence on the rest of the way to the Grangers' car. Neither father nor daughter were ever very sociable. In a way, that was how Hermione differed so much from her mother… Jane was more outgoing and wore her emotions on her sleeve. Personality-wise, Carl and Hermione matched.

When they reached the car, Hermione felt her nerves lessening now that Carl was not shouting at Harry or outwardly showing disgust. She could at least take that much for now. Hermione and Harry sat in the back. Harry kept the middle seat between them, most likely for her father's sake.

Carl took off from the parking lot, and Hermione turned to face Harry.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

Harry looked over at her. He was actually smiling. She loved that smile of his. "Yeah," he whispered back, nodding. "Your mum's really… nice."

"I know." She laughed softly.

"So," Jane interrupted, "how did you two meet?"

Harry blushed scarlet, so Hermione took over. She explained how she was assigned to give Harry tours. Hermione gracefully glazed over Harry's fear of magic, and he sent her a thankful smile in return. It was a highly edited version of what happened, because giving her parents details of her relationship with Harry wasn't the way that she wanted to kick off the holidays. Hermione told them how protective Harry was of her, without mentioning the incident with Draco. Perhaps she'd tell her mum in private, in deep confidence. But her father didn't need to know… not now. Harry's cheeks were such a shade of scarlet that she was sure he was going to insist to go back to Hogwarts from how embarrassed he looked. So Hermione finally ended their tale breathlessly, looking over at Harry and sending an apologetic smile his way, and he smiled back.

. . . . .

Carl Granger loved his daughter.

When they pulled into the driveway of their home, the first thing that was on his mind was the boyfriend, and the talk he was going to have with him. So far, the young man seemed scared and polite. But mostly scared. Carl remembered his own encounter with Jane's picky parents. He tried to keep it civil with the boy, then, but clearly that didn't make Harry comfortable, either.

The two men put the trunks inside the house, were thanked by the women, and then Carl began to take Harry aside. The boy didn't show any signs of resistance; he was just going with it.

Jane loved the boyfriend already… he was clearly accepted by her, at least. Carl was trying his best to be open minded, because Hermione asked him to. And he loved her happiness almost as much as he loved her safety. Almost.

"Harry, can we have a talk?" Carl asked. He tried to keep his voice light-hearted and easy going. He wasn't generally a light-hearted and easy going person, however, so this was not an easy task. _This is for Hermione_, he reminded himself.

The boyfriend nodded. Carl led him into his study, and closed the door. The young man took a seat opposite of Carl's desk. Carl sat down. It was almost humorous, how nervous the boy looked. He felt bad for the boy.

"So, Harry, tell me…" Carl began, and the young man immediately snapped to his attention, "What is it that drew you to my daughter in the first place?"

He didn't need to know the details… _Lord_, he did _not _need to know the details… he just wanted to make sure that Hermione's boyfriend was here for the right reasons.

"Well, like Hermione told you, we had tours around the school together… and she was very… open-minded. She's a great listener," the boyfriend said at once.

Carl was expecting the young man to state that Hermione was smart immediately, seeing as that was the one trait that stood out about his daughter. But the boy didn't point that out at first. He saw Hermione as more than just _smart_. And it was true; Hermione was so much more than that.

"And – and she's supportive… she's there for me, you know? It's, like, whatever… whatever happens, I can t-tell her anything," the boy continued. He looked nervous, but he kept talking. "And Hermione's a brilliant witch. She's been helping me out with m-magic."

Carl nodded, folding his hands together. "I understand that you began school this year?"

"Yes, sir," he said. _Sir_ was taking it over the top… was Carl really appearing that threatening?

He tried to keep his tone kinder when he said, "So, Hermione's been helping you?"

"Yes. She's an excellent teacher. She made me feel more relaxed, I suppose." The boy's voice dropped to a quieter volume. "I was a bit nervous around magic, sir, and Hermione helped me cope with it. I wouldn't be nearly as good at magic now if it wasn't for her."

Carl couldn't help but feel a rush of pride towards his daughter. She really was brilliant. But did this boy deserve her?

"And have you helped herout at all?" he asked.

The boyfriend nodded, looking down at his knees. "Yes, sir. It's awful, just how much Hermione was… was looked down upon, just because she was academically successful and loves to read. I– well, I feel very protective of her, Mr. Granger. I would never let anything bad happen to Hermione." He looked up at Carl with a pleading look blazing in his expression. "There were kids that… that were making remarks at her, and they didn't even know her, they didn't know how… how amazing she is." The boy's expression changed from pleading to determined. "And if they got to know her, I'm sure they wouldn't do a thing to her, because your daughter's brilliant."

Harry sat there, gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were nearly turning white.

Carl knew, at least, by this point that Harry did have feelings for her. He'd have to check in with Hermione and see if his protective streak was good enough, but all in all, Harry seemed… alright. Carl would obviously have to keep an eye on him over the holidays to make sure that Harry _stayed _alright.

"Harry," Carl began, "I'm sorry if I scared you a little back there…"

Harry shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Granger. You're her father and you'll do what you have to for her sake."

This boy was more mature than Carl had anticipated. He wracked his brain to remember what Hermione had said about Harry's past… she'd certainly made a point that Harry wasn't from the best family around. Maybe that family of his made him more mature.

"Glad we're on the same page, Harry," Carl said. He stood up and shook hands with the boy from over the desk. Harry's grip on his hand was surprisingly strong… a man's grip.

And for the first time that day, Carl genuinely smiled at Harry.

. . . . .

"Harry?"

Harry sat up from the bed he was in within the guest room. He saw Hermione, standing there in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. She was wearing a light pink night gown that went down to her knees. Her tiny frame leaned against the wood of the doorway, and Harry thought she looked exceptionally cute.

"Yes?"

Hermione took a few steps into the room, stretching her arms as she walked. "I couldn't sleep…" she said in a soft and tired voice.

Harry looked at the wall beside his room, feeling painfully aware of the fact that her parents were sleeping in a room on this same floor. Harry was shirtless, as was typical whenever he went to bed. Then again he hadn't been expecting Hermione to sneak into his room.

If her parents saw Hermione here, in this room, with Harry, at night…. Well, Harry might as well have just packed his bags. Harry getting caught with Hermione – even if they weren't actually doing anything wildly inappropriate – would certainly make the holidays awkward.

"Hermione, your parents –"

She shook her head. "I always get up before them," she assured him.

"But –"

"Always."

"Hermione –"

Hermione paused from walking towards him. She put her hands on her hips and frowned.

Harry sighed. "Alright."

She could have jumped from the look of excitement that lit up her face. She tip-toed over to his bed and slithered her little body beneath the sheets. Without even saying a word, Hermione shifted over to Harry and rested her head on his chest while he lay on his back. Her tiny body was sideways, facing him. She closed her eyes and looked at peace. Harry bent down and kissed the top of her head. He loved the way she could make all of his worries go away.

"I think they like you," Hermione said, nuzzling her head further into his chest. She rested her dainty hand on his stomach. "Dad says that you're alright, and coming from my father, that's a huge compliment."

Harry laughed. He ran his fingers through the curls of Hermione's hair that fanned out across her shoulders.

"He's not too bad, either," Harry said. "I guess I was kind of scared for nothing. You were right."

"I'm always right," Hermione told him.

Again, Harry laughed.

Hermione lazily drew patterns on his bare stomach with her fingertips, her touch making his skin blaze with fire. Harry sucked in a breath and tried to think of anything but her and the emotions that she stirred…

Dead puppies… dead kittens… Mrs. Figg….

Hermione sighed. "I'm excited to see Sirius also. Do you think he'll like me?"

"Are you nervous about whether or not he'll approve?"

"Sound familiar?" Hermione shot back.

"Vaguely."

She paused her pattern-drawing to slap him, to which he faked being in excruciating pain. Harry loved that she could be playful when she wanted to.

"He'll approve," Harry said. "When I first… when I first entered this world, he was the only person I trusted. I actually thought that he was going to be the only person that I trusted."

But Hermione had showed him that he could trust more than one person… she showed him that Harry could open up to other people. He didn't have to be alone.

He liked her a lot… could he call it love?

Harry felt scared, because he wasn't sure if Hermione loved him back, if "love" was what he felt for her. He wasn't even sure what love was supposed to be, and it almost seemed uncertain to throw his feelings into that one forbidden word.

What was love? Was it the butterflies in his stomach when he saw her, or the way she listened to him, or all of those moments that she accepted his words without question, or the way she kissed him?

Hermione kissed his skin gently and pulled herself more closely to him. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Her just being there with him made him feel at peace. Harry continued to stroke her hair gently, lost in his thoughts.

"I thought that you came here to fall asleep," Harry said when he saw that Hermione was very much awake, due to her fingertips still tracing patterns on his skin.

Hermione giggled. He loved when she laughed like that. The girly little outbursts of Hermione made him so much more attracted to her. "Well, I just thought I'd spend some time with you, too," she admitted. She looked up for a moment, and her doe eyes gazed over him. She bit her lip and rested her head back on his chest. Hermione was truly beautiful. Harry felt like the luckiest guy alive.

He knew that jealousy wasn't healthy, but in that moment he felt envious of Hermione, because she grew up with love. Hermione probably knew what love was. And there Harry was, holding the girl that meant everything to him, not even sure if he bloody _loved her_ because he wasn't sure what fit the definition of love. He hated the Dursleys with every cell in his body. He loathed them. They raised him without love, they never gave a damn, he probably wouldn't know love if it danced right in front of him. And it was all their fucking fault.

But Hermione knew; she _had_ to know what love was.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, feeling stupid and nervous at the same time. He was always open with her and he felt that this situation wasn't much different.

"Mmm?"

"Never mind."

"Harry, what is it?" Hermione pleaded. She lifted her head again and tilted it to the side.

"Well… and I know this sounds stupid…" He paused. "What's love?"

Hermione's mouth opened like she was going to say something, and then she closed it and turned it into a frown. Her eyes widened. She slid her body over his, – and he tried to think of dead puppies, and dead kittens, and Mrs. Figg – pushed his hair away from his face, and kissed his forehead.

Her face was inches away and he could feel her sweet, hot breath tingling his skin. Harry couldn't take his eyes off of her… she was so beautiful. His heart raced and his cheeks were flushed.

"This is love, Harry," Hermione whispered, her breath embracing him. She kissed his lips this time. "Not just kisses and the butterflies in my stomach…" She laughed. "But, you know… _us_. _This_ is love. It's hard to describe." She put her hand on his chest. "That feeling, right there... that's love."

Harry kissed her back and smiled against her lips. He wrapped her arms around her waist. He could kiss her forever. Harry believed her. This was love.

"I love you," Hermione whispered when their kiss ended. Her smile lit up the world.

He couldn't even find words to thank her just for existing. Harry never heard those words before, and quite honestly, he'd never _thought _he'd hear them. But now… now, he felt loved, and it was a strange but exciting feeling that put a bright, genuine smile on his face. Harry wasn't sure how to tell her what he felt, other than to speak words that he'd never said before.

"I love you, too."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Okay so it's really really late, and I'm exhausted, and I haven't even looked this over but I'm posting it anyway. Screw being professional… I'm just throwing this all out there and hoping that nobody hates me. I hope you guys are happy, because I actually feel disgusted with myself now. Fluff irks me to no end, but I did it because it's unfortunately necessary to the plot. Hopefully it's not too fluffy where it's like full of smiles and unicorns, because _that_, as I established in an Author's Note not too long ago, is most definitely not my style. I threw a lot of stuff at you and I hope it's not too much. I think you guys can handle it. I'm going to stop this now before I start rambling and scaring you guys off. If my Author's Notes annoy you, then don't read them, I know I rarely ever make sense in these. Anyway, as always, thanks for reading! :)


	21. Welcome Back

**Author's Note: **This is it. The last chapter. Thank you for all of your support through this journey, you guys. I've certainly enjoyed writing this story and I sincerely hope that I don't disappoint any of you with this last chapter. I know that there are a lot of expectations now that this is the conclusion of everything. Please try to keep an open mind... I wanted to get things straight and to the point; I wasn't going to bore you guys with long, extensive dialogues, because this story is past that by now, haha. What's needed to be said will be said, and what isn't, well, won't. Please enjoy! :)

* * *

Welcome to Hogwarts

_Chapter Twenty-One: Welcome Back_

The next morning, Hermione woke up earlier than her parents, just as she had told Harry. She spent a few minutes watching Harry's sleeping form, sweeping hair from his forehead and admiring how peaceful he looked. His arms were around her waist and her face had been buried in his chest.

The night before, Harry had asked Hermione was love was. It broke her heart to hear him ask that… his awful relatives made him that way; they destroyed him so much that he hadn't even known was love was. But it was a sign of his trusting her that she did would not laugh at his question. She gave him an answer. They'd told each other that they loved each other, and just the thought of the memory put a wide smile on Hermione's face.

Then, too soon, she heard her parents stir within the room next door and she knew that she had to leave. After kissing his forehead, Hermione got up from his bed and left his room. She went down to the kitchen. Her appearance in that room at such an early hour was never questionable. Her sleeping patterns were off and her parents were aware of it… but just how much they cared was always a question that bothered her.

Just as she was finishing up her breakfast, she heard footsteps descending the staircase from the floor above her.

"Harry?" she asked expectantly, twisting from her seat to get a better view at the new visitor.

"Try again," her mother's voice said.

Hermione's smile faltered. "Oh. Good morning."

"Good morning, dear." Jane crossed the kitchen and began to prepare her own breakfast. She yawned and then asked, "Did you sleep well?"

Hermione bit her lip, trying to suppress the grin that was threatening to reveal itself. "Yes."

Jane nodded. "I'm thinking about getting some clothes for Harry today. The poor boy is wearing clothes far too big for him… you'd think his wardrobe is consisted of hand-me-downs!"

Hermione choked on her food. "Mum, his wardrobe _is _consisted of hand-me-downs."

Her mother turned around and gave her a questioning look. "What do you –?"

"Well, you already know that his family's horrible… but Mum, they're _horrible_." Hermione's voice lowered to a whisper, even though there was nobody else near the kitchen to eavesdrop on their conversation. "He's – well, Harry's been through a lot."

"But you don't – you don't m-mean –"

"All I'm saying," Hermione said, angrily slamming down the rest of her uneaten toast on the plate, "is that Harry's not from the best background. Just don't question him about it, whatever you do… please."

She did not want to hear the word "abuse" aloud, nor did she want to say it. It would break her heart. Also, Hermione would never be able to forgive herself if she told her mother details about Harry's homelife without his permission. She knew that Harry would never reveal her own secrets, and it would be unfair to turn her back and reveal his.

"Alright, I won't," Jane said quietly. She looked surprised at Hermione's sudden defensive nature. "You really do like him."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I do," she said breathlessly. There was a moment's silence between the two of them, and then Hermione added, "I see that Dad hasn't killed him yet."

Jane let out a small laugh and sat back down at the table to face her daughter after a small _ding! _noise erupted from the toaster. She put her toast on her plate and grabbed a stick of butter. "Your father is not _completely _reassured about Harry," she explained, "but he says, and I quote, 'he's alright'. I personally think that Harry is fantastic." Jane paused to look hungrily at her daughter's face, as though searching for something in her expression. "You've changed."

"Dad said that same thing," she noted. "I feel different… in good way."

"Oh, of course."

"I wasn't… I wasn't happy before, you know," Hermione admitted in a shaky voice. She looked down at the rest of her breakfast and found that she no longer had an appetite.

"Sweetheart?" Jane leaned forward and gently touched the back of her daughter's hand. Her eyes were wide, her brows were furrowed together, and she was frowning.

"Please don't look at me like that," Hermione said, trying to hold back tears. She could see the sadness in her mother's expression out of the corner of her eye. "You knew I wasn't happy."

"Hermione! What are you – what do you –"

Hermione blinked a few times and then said, "Hogwarts made me unhappy. I loved magic… believe me, I did, and I still do… but Mum, let's not sit here and pretend that I was _happy_, that I had _friends_ –"

"You had Neville!" Jane exclaimed. "Neville's a fine boy."

Hermione wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She looked up at her mother and saw that Jane was crying.

"I was stuck with Neville," Hermione admitted. "He wasn't really a great friend. I had nobody…."

"Hermione," Jane said in a strained, pleading voice, although what she was pleading for, Hermione did not know.

Hermione just shook her head and covered her face. This wasn't how she wanted to spend the holidays… this wasn't part of the plan….

"Was it – was it that bad?" Jane asked gently. Her voice sounded so… _motherly_. Her words were dripping with concern and were spoken in such a quiet tone that it sent a chill up Hermione's spine.

"It was worse," Hermione said, her unsteady, choked-up voice spilling out between her fingers. She took in a huge breath of air and shut her eyes tightly. She had to tell her mother, she had to let it out. If Hermione wasn't going to tell Jane now, when would she? How long would her secret be bottling up inside of her? "I couldn't sleep… I didn't sleep…."

"You – what? What do you mean, you couldn't sleep? Did you have nightmares? Because we can get you medicine for that, sweetheart –"

"No!" Hermione shrieked. She didn't want to have to explain it; she had wanted it all to be over in just a few words. She remembered how painful it was, to admit the truth to Harry not too long ago. "I – I stayed out late, away from the dormitory, until the other girls fell asleep.…" Hermione paused, and Jane did not interrupt her. She did not want to see the look on her mother's face just yet. "I waited until, most of the time, past midnight. I was afraid of the girls and I didn't want to have to face them."

"Did this habit stay with you over the summer?" Jane asked, her voice low and monotone. All emotion had been torn away from her voice.

"Yes."

There was an unsettling silence between them. Hermione did not remove her hands from her face. She preferred being kept hidden this way, so that she wouldn't have to face her mother's expression and know how she was taking this in. After all, Hermione had spent so much of her life at Hogwarts trying to stay hidden.

"I should have known," Jane said finally, breaking the silence. "I should have known… I knew that your sleeping pattern was off, but honey – oh, honey, I never knew it was – but I should have known! I should have!"

"Mum –" Hermione began, her voice somewhat muffled behind her hands.

"I tried, I tried.…" Jane interrupted, her voice becoming shaky and alert. "I gave you shopping trips, makeovers, pep-talks… sweetheart, I wanted you to see how beautiful you are!" There was a few seconds of silence, and then: "I'm a horrible mother!"

"Mum!"

Hermione finally uncovered her face and saw that her mother was staring at her with redness streaking around her eyes and tears streaming down her cheeks. She had never – never, even when Jane got in horrible fights with Carl when she thought Hermione wasn't around – seen her mother look like this.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"Mum, you're not a horrible mother, don't –"

But before she could say anymore, Jane got up from her seat and rushed to her daughter's side. She wrapped her thin arms around Hermione. "I love you," she said shakily.

"I love you too, Mum."

Hermione hugged Jane back. Her mother smoothed out her hair and continued to cling to her as though she were her lifeline. Jane's sobs continued and all Hermione could think about was how it was their collective ignorance that lead to this.

Hermione held it in; Jane didn't pay enough attention.

It was both of their faults. Both were to blame.

"It's not just your fault," Hermione said, "it's mine, too."

"Sweetheart –"

"Don't pretend like it isn't."

With another squeeze of Hermione's tiny frame, Jane said, "Well – regardless – all it took was a boy," with a half-hearted laugh. "All it took was Harry… I'm buying him the whole department store when we take him shopping!"

"Harry means the world to me, Mum," Hermione said. She felt herself tearing up again. It was nice, after letting go of so many negative bottled-up confessions, to finally let out something positive. "I'm so happy with him."

"I know, sweetie," Jane murmured. "As long as you two are being safe, I'm okay with it."

"_Mum!_"

. . . . .

The days leading up to Christmas were – as Harry had told Hermione himself – some of the best of Harry's life. Harry had noted aloud that there was a renewed life within Hermione's relationship with his mother. Now the two just seemed more open and there was less awkwardness in their conversations… everything was left out in the open between them now. And when Hermione sneaked into his room at night, she told him all about how she admitted everything to Jane. She also told him that her strained relationship with her mother was one thing that had always kept her miserable, and so it was nice to finally get that burden off her chest.

Hermione was sneaking into his room a _lot_. Nothing happened, of course, other than the one night Hermione tempted him into a snogging session by biting her lip and looking at him with lust-hooded eyes. But besides that, they just enjoyed each other's company. And they'd talk… there was talk of Sirius, playful jokes and hints about what they got for the other for Christmas, and expectations of their undecided future.

Jane took the holidays off at work while Carl stayed in the office for several hours over the days. Carl was civil with Harry, and it seemed like he needed more time to adjust to the fact that his little girl had a boyfriend.

Jane, Harry, and Hermione spent days shopping or just hanging around the house. No matter what they did, Harry told Hermione that was glad to be a part of something like… something like a family.

"Have you ever – have you ever thought about… having a family one day?" Hermione asked him timidly on the night before Christmas. They had spent Christmas Eve – Carl got that day and Christmas off from work – decorating the rest of the house and preparing for the following day.

"A – A family?" Harry choked out.

"I'm not proposing marriage, Harry," Hermione said, chuckling. "I was just wondering…. I mean, I personally never thought about it before, but… now, I guess that somewhere down the line, I'd like one."

Harry looked confused. "I guess I'd like a family," he said slowly and uncertainly. "I just—Never mind."

"What is it?"

"I was wondering if I'd be a good father," he mumbled.

"Of course you'd be a good father," Hermione said. She smiled at him, trying to hide the fact that his worries were breaking her heart. "You'd want the best for any child of yours… you'd want them to – to have the childhood you never had."

Hermione leaned forward and kissed him deeply. She needed him to know that every word she told him was the truth and that she completely and utterly believed in him. Harry breathlessly kissed her back with just as much force.

"I love you, Hermione," he breathed when they pulled apart. His eyes were dark and his hair was even messier than usual from her fingers desperately running through it.

"I love you, Harry," she whispered back as his lips worked their way down his neck. "So, what are – what are you getting me f-for Christmas?" she asked, her breath hitching when he met a particularly sensitive spot on her neck that he knew by heart by now.

"You'll find out tomorrow," he growled into her neck.

She gently threw her head back onto her pillow and clung to him. Harry's body was pressed against hers, and she could feel how solid he was. She felt ashamed for being so close to Harry when her parents were sleeping on the same floor. Her hands dug further into his hair of their own accord.

"Harry, my parents are – my parents are right next door – they're –"

Harry sighed and pulled back from her. "You're right," he said in a low voice, panting. "You're right… We can't…."

"I mean, it's not like we were –"

"I know," Harry reassured her in a soothing tone. "I know, Hermione." He kissed her forehead, and then her cheek. Her skin burned where he'd kissed her.

Hermione shivered under his lack of touch when he pulled back completely from her for a moment to lie beside her. She immediately moved to be comfortably in his embrace and she sighed.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"There's nothing to apologize for," Harry told her, brushing his hands through her hair. "We're not ready."

Hermione stiffened. Both of them knew what he meant. _We're not ready_. He was right; they weren't. Especially not in a room that neighbored her parents' room.

. . . . .

Harry woke up to Hermione's soft voice welcoming him into consciousness.

"Harry," she said, shaking his shoulder and giggling. "Harry, wake up! It's Christmas!"

Her excited squeal was what shook him awake. He sat straight up and saw a blurry image of his girlfriend, who was kneeling beside him with wide eyes and a grin that lit up the world. Harry had never woken up on Christmas morning to anything even minutely joyful… sometimes he'd forget that it was Christmas until he saw Dudley's numerous presents under the tree, and then his own lame present waiting for him: usually something ridiculous like a paperclip or a pair of old, smelly socks.

Harry reached over to the nightstand to retrieve his glasses and put them on. Hermione grabbed his hand. "Come on!" she said, beckoning him away from the bed.

"You sound like a five year old," Harry said, laughing as he was pulled out of the guest room.

"Christmas is my favorite holiday," Hermione explained. She kissed him on the cheek. They walked down the staircase and straight into the kitchen. "We have to wait for Mum and Dad, though… if you think I'm a five year old, you should see my Mum."

Harry laughed. The two of them prepared breakfast and so by the time Jane and Carl woke up, they were met with Christmas breakfast. Jane squealed, hugged Harry and Hermione, and sat down beside her husband to eat. Carl politely thanked Harry and smiled at his daughter.

"I can't wait for everyone to see their presents," Jane said halfway through the meal.

Hermione caught Harry's eye and grinned, shooting him an I-told-you-so look.

"Presents!" Hermione exclaimed when Carl finished his last bite. She took Harry's hand once again and pulled him into the living room, her parents right behind them.

Harry had seen the Christmas tree before – he helped Jane and Hermione decorate it – but it seemed so much more beautiful on Christmas morning. Its lights were winking at the four of them, and the angel on top was wearing a beautiful gown. There were gifts beneath the tree that were calling to them; Harry found himself smiling at Hermione tugged him down to sit on the ground beside her.

"Yours," she said, thrusting a wrapped small box into his arms.

"Hermione's!" Jane called, throwing a larger box over to her daughter.

Back and forth, the presents were handed out; everyone just shouted the person's name and gave the present over. It was so ordinary and _normal_ that Harry was amazed just from watching them. It was moments like these when he knew that he was right when he told Hermione he wanted a family of his own.

"Well, go on, Harry!" Hermione urged him on as she began to open up her own present.

Harry looked down at the present that lamely sat in his hands. The label read "To: Harry" and "From: Carl". He opened it slowly, wondering what on earth was in store for him –

"Wow! Thanks, Mr. Granger!" Harry exclaimed as he saw a nice silver watch in a small, velvety box. "You have good taste…" he added, taking out the watch and wrapping it around his wrist.

Carl laughed and patted Harry on the back. "Every man should have a nice watch. Isn't that right, honey? Remember when you got me my gold watch the first year we were married?"

"What? Oh, sure, honey," Jane said distractedly as she tore apart the wrappings of one of her gifts.

"Harry! Look – this one's from you!" Hermione squealed. He turned around; she was looking at a label that read that this present was from him. He looked at her nervously in anticipation.

She unwrapped a small box and hastily opened it. There was a small Claddagh ring waiting eagerly for her. A pair of hands was holding a golden heart that had a crown atop it.

"It's not an engagement ring, it's a Claddagh ring, it's just –" Harry began to reassure her, especially after seeing Carl peer over to see what she'd received.

"Oh, no, I know," she said breathlessly, grasping the ring and trying it on her right ring finger. She kept the heart pointed towards her; the woman at the jewelry store had explained to Harry that this meant the wearer's heart was taken.

"It fits perfectly!" she squealed. "Oh, Harry!"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

"Is it too unoriginal?" he asked weakly. He hadn't been sure what to get her… in fact, Jane had to pull him into a jewelry store and tell him that he couldn't go wrong with jewelry. He had wished he could buy her something more creative, something that would leave him memorable… It was times like these when he doubted whether or not he deserved to be Hermione's boyfriend.

"No! I love it, Harry!" she exclaimed. "I've always liked these whenever I stopped by jewelry stores… but it feels weird, you know, buying jewelry for myself. Oh, Harry, it's perfect, thank you."

Harry smiled at her and kissed her forehead. He turned back and opened up another gift – this one labeled to be from Hermione, which made his stomach twist – and he saw that Hermione had given him what looked like a scrapbook. He looked at her questioningly, but she was too busy opening up a present from Jane to notice.

Harry opened it up and gasped. It was a photo album. There was a picture of his parents. The figures were moving… they were _waving _at him, and _smiling _at him. Harry had the instinct to wave and smile back at them. He flipped through the pages and saw numerous pictures of his parents, including a copy of the one that Sirius had showed him the first night that he entered the wizarding world….

He had no words. He roughly wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. He felt Hermione's hand holding his, and he turned to see that she was giving him a sad smile. He leaned down and gave her a small kiss on the lips before her parents could see. She was perfect. This day was perfect.

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. He looked right at her and tried to form words, but he had lost his voice completely.

"When Dumbledore called me into his office to give me the location of the Order, I asked him for a few photos… he contacted some people, your parents' old school friends, I'm guessing, and got these for me… and I just put it together," Hermione explained without needing to be questioned.

Harry felt bad for just getting her a ring. He kept flipping through the photos, once again at a loss for words. Hermione squeezed his hand. She seemed to understand how thankful he was.

"You don't need to say anything," she told him.

. . .

It was the last night of the holidays when Harry finally realized that he'd much rather live with the Grangers and not ever go back to Hogwarts….

He'd spent too much time here at the Grangers, too much time surrounded by family-like moments that made him loathe the Dursleys even more. He'd been torn away from this all his life… he had never, _ever_, spent the holidays like this. Hermione was more than willing to introduce him to her life and her family, and he was eternally grateful for that. She was giving him more than she could ever possibly understand. She meant the world to him. Harry slowly thought of his future family the more he spent time with _this _family, and he began to see Hermione as a part of that life….

Did he deserve her? Did Harry, the neglected and lonely kid who hadn't known about this world a few months ago, deserve someone so righteous and so selfless? Did he deserve such a beautiful young woman to be his girlfriend?

The day before, Harry and Hermione had gone to Grimmauld Place to visit Sirius. They were aided to and from the house by a guard of Aurors – this included a man with a false, electric blue eye, and a woman who kept changing her appearances. Hermione spent most of the journey questioning her about her abilities. Harry admired her thirst for knowledge.

Sirius was only too glad to give Hermione a big welcome. The Weasleys were also spending time in the house, but Harry, Hermione, and Sirius kept their distance and chatted in an abandoned drawing room that sported china that would occasionally start rattling.

Sirius was shocked at the tales of Harry's improvement when it came to performing magic. He thanked Hermione profusely for her help, and she'd told him that there was no need to thank her, and that she was also proud of Harry. When they had to leave, Harry was certain Sirius was almost as sad to see Hermione go as he was to see Harry go.

"She's a keeper, that one," Sirius had whispered to Harry. Harry had smiled and nodded in agreement.

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione asked now him. They were in his bed in the guest room. She propped her head up on her hand and looked at him curiously. She affectionately pushed a few strands of hair away from his eyes. The little things like that drove him crazy.

"Tomorrow," he replied honestly. The thought had been attacking him all day and made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

Hermione sighed. "Yeah. Me, too. I think it'll be better, though, don't you? You know, going onto the Hogwarts Express without knowing who you'll sit with?" She paused. "Well, I suppose I had Neville, and you had Ron, but… I have a feeling they've made their decisions clear to us."

"That's their problem," he told her.

"I know, I know…." she said distractedly. "I prefer you over Neville, anyway," she added, laughing.

"Oh, good, I was feeling some competition going on.…"

Hermione laughed some more and then lowered herself to Harry's eye level. She curled up next to him and he immediately, without even thinking about it, wrapped his arms around her protectively, as though shielding her from any dangers that might sneak up on her.

It seemed as though Harry was only just falling asleep, his nightmares of Voldemort at bay while his beautiful Hermione was next to him, when Hermione was waking him up and preparing to get ready to go to King's Cross.

It was a trip like no other: never had Harry felt so heartbroken to leave a place. Everything happened so quickly and he wanted to shout at time and tell it to slow the fuck down. How the hell did he end up at the station already? All of it was a blur… Jane crying over their departure, Carl shaking his hand, the Grangers' reassurance that he could visit over the summer, Hermione's double checking that they had everything packed, everyone's laughs at the memories they'd shared and the smiles everyone exchanged….

It was with a knot in his stomach and a heavy heart and that he left the Grangers' and boarded the train with Hermione. There was the usual unwanted attention drawn to them as usual, however even Hermione was able to look beyond it with her head held high. It seemed surreal to be back here, like all of this was

There were tears shining in Hermione's eyes as the train took off and she looked over at her parents, who eventually disappeared from sight when the train turned around a bend.

"I miss them already," Hermione admitted with a sigh. She tucked her legs in towards her and leaned against Harry, who had sat down next to her. Harry wrapped his arm around her tiny shoulders.

"I know, love. But we'll see them in a few months, don't worry…" he reassured her. "Just a few more months in that hellhole."

Hermione sighed. "I know. A few more months…"

"We can make it."

The two of them then sat there in silence, not-so-eagerly awaiting their arrival to Hogwarts. But Harry knew that Hermione would be there by his side, and he was by her side. He knew, with an unsettling feeling starting to loom over him, that they certainly didn't feel welcome at Hogwarts….

But whatever happened, they'd endure it together.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Before I drown you guys in thank yous, I'd like to clear up that yes, the photo album Hermione gave to Harry is like the one that Hagrid gave to Harry in canon, so let me just say that that was J.K. Rowling's idea and please don't kill me. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. _Now _onto drowning you guys in thank yous:

Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has read/alerted/favorited/reviewed this story! Thank you for reading this and sticking with me to the end. I can't believe this story is over. I hope that you guys are satisfied with the ending! I kept tweaking it because I wanted loose ends to be tied, and hopefully it's good enough :) Your encouragement is what keeps me writing! It's been a pleasure to write this story and I really hope you've enjoyed it. Please let me know what you've thought of the story, I love getting feedback. Thanks again guys! :)


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